Digital War: Campaign One
by Trinity Dragon
Summary: An individual choice can shape the world in unprecedented ways. What of the one who made that decision? The events leading up to it are just as important, or maybe even more so. It begs the question: What of the story behind that individual and his choice
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Go ahead, sue me if you want, I don't really care. Flame me if you want, I'll just track you down and punch you in the face. Review even if you don't want, I command it.

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**Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

People always seem to like describing me as short, green and doubly charming. They're full of crap. To correct them, I am _compact_, green and doubly charming. For those of you who don't know me, my name's Cotramon.

I am around six hundred years old, give or take a decade or two. That means I've seen the Great War and the Second Great War. I'd served in both of them and more directly so in the second of the two. For those who don't know, my Tamer was the great Trinitymon who destroyed the Black Diamond, which means I've some excellent stories to tell.

And somehow, I am compelled to retell them…

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A/N: Wow, this is gonna be a long one! I am completely reworking everything from scratch, so you won't see many details from the old version. This is now officially called the Digital War series as well, so enjoy and REVIEW! 


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Go ahead, sue me if you want, I don't really care. Flame me if you want, I'll just track you down and punch you in the face. Review even if you don't want, I command it.

* * *

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I **

Ea…

The walls of the mass ahead loomed ominously form where I stood. The landing craft that had brought me from the marine city had been rocking steadily for the last hour and I was experiencing the first hints of seasickness. My companions had already given up the fight and were presently leaning over the edge of the boat.

Being part of the Medical Corps, I knew it was a severe case. But soon we'd hit land and be blowing the bits out of the Enemy's army and liberating their concentration camps.

That was the real purpose of this mission, my first. To free captives who wouldn't give in to the Enemy's demands. I knew most of them would probably be dead of their wounds, but those who I could help, I would.

I was young then, only six years. The lower limits of those who were allowed to join were virtually nonexistent. As long as you could talk, read and write, you were in. I fit in that category perfectly, even though I had a slight speech impediment.

There was one advantage that I did have over the others. I was stronger and relatively faster then them. During basic I had evolved to Greymon. The thought crossed my mind for a fleeting second, and then I turned my attention to the task at hand.

_Fight for all your worth_, I told myself_, then get to the south wall and wait for orders_. We were storming the camp, and then it was my job to start treating the wounded and deformed…

That puzzled me. How did Millenniumon do it? How _could_ he do it? He caused deformities and brought on diseases that took decades or more to set in. Then it hit me. What if the dark spirit was here? He had an unknown level; he and his counterpart Apocalymon were second only to the Enemy himself. I shuttered.

Then, from somewhere, someone started shouting. "Clear," he called out, and the ramp at the head of the craft dropped. I snapped to it, realizing what was going on. It was time.

My mind raced and I jumped. The water chilled me as I went under. When I broke the surface again, the Enemy was already sending waves of different attacks. One for each element, no one was being spared.

I raced up the beach, pushing against my own worst fears. A ChaosSeedramon guarded one of the scattered battlements. He had two advantages over me, Level and element.

He shot a lightning bolt at me. I had second thoughts about his elemental status. Then it hit me, somehow the charge had been amplified. _Damn things a mind user! _Thank the Creator for basic training.

"Nova Blast!" My attack rang out. Though only the two of us noticed. The fire ball collided with him and he disintegrated. Again, my mind raced. _No time, get to the wall!_

I continued pushing through the lines toward the rendezvous point, taking out and deleting as much of the enemy as I could. Finally I reached the south wall. The others were there too, we all were panting and out of breath.

I looked back on the open stretch of land, our landing ships were still coming in and the marine based units were heavy and general with their supporting artillery. Digimon attacks were effective, but only with proper range; the infantry and the Medical Corps were the only troops specifically trained for combat of such a type.

"Sergeant." My head snapped up, hearing my rank.

"Yes, sir," I said, still slightly preoccupied.

"You'll be taking your men to the northern entrance," the commander said. "Move along the base of the wall to the east. Captain Miles will be escorting you through the base. Expect little to no resistance."

_Captain Miles_. He was the direct type of person. None of us liked sneaking around, but him most of all. He was a BlackGreymon, a virus attribute, which accounted for his toward sneakiness and his surliness. I'd known him since before I joined. He'd gone first, and then I came later.

"Sergeant," again my mind clicked.

"Yes, sir," I said again.

"Fix up as many as you can inside." I nodded. Captain Miles had already left for the northern entrance. I followed shortly after, in turn followed by my company.

We moved along the base of the wall, encountering only a few of the enemy. Most of the warring was farther down to the ocean, most of which was calm.

It was a rather disconcerting sight, seeing troops dissolving in mid stride. The shouting was horrendous, entire companies were pinned down and destroyed. Still there was nothing anyone could do until the camp was taken.

The north face of the wall was less than what I expected, less than twenty feet in height and only ten feet wide. We blasted through the gates, following Capt. Miles' lead, and jumped right into the enemy's waiting arms.

"TRAP!" Capt. Miles shouted orders to his subordinates. "Sergeant! Get inside and do your job! We'll be along shortly!"

I barely heard his order, but caught the gist of it and headed inside. We pushed through the inner gates, no resistance at all. Apparently Millenniumon hadn't expected us to get this far.

Logically, there would have been more troops anyway, to at least detour us momentarily. Then it struck me, the Enemy knew he was losing. He had abandoned the unnecessary bases and camps to call his army back to Anshar.

The corridor was dark; someone had cut the power early. We, the rest of my company and I, moved quickly. I had been given a map of the facility and currently found myself using it with remarkable efficiency.

We turned a corner. One last obstacle before I could get to work stood in our way. The door was barred with a meter thick steel-digiziod beam. This was it, with out a doubt. We lifted the heavy plate from the door and went through.

We were told that it would be gruesome and gory, but nothing, not even the photographs we were shown, could compare to what we saw. Then, like a punch in the face, the odor hit us. The smellsof rotting, decaying flesh on living Digimon.

"Alright," I said. "Lets get to work." Like any other officer, enlisted or otherwise, I was adept at giving orders. The only difference was that instead of blowing up people, we were saving them, or trying too at least.

The battle outside raged on, with no signs of letting up any time soon. Attacks pounded on the outer wall of theprotective fortress. Most of those inside, however, scarcely took notice. Their minds were already occupied by the unbearable pain they were doubtlessly feeling.

Many of them were rotting from the outside. More of them were deformities of different forms. Still others were trapped by a series of endless hallucinations and nightmares. Those were the ones we couldn't do anything for; you couldn't even get close enough to end it for them…

Three Hours Later…

The fight had been a quick one, less casualties than we would have expected. Those inside that were still inside the camp had been given food and water, something they readily accepted. Tents were going up outside to give a more sterile environment than the camp itself.

I moved about the main dormitory. It was again calm, something not usually seen in Ea. At present, I was moving around, giving as much help as I could to as many people needed it. Needless to say, but I was certainly busy. At present, I was traversing, aiding as many persons as needed my assistance.

"Hello," I said soothingly to a rather hideous Agumon. He had been deformed and legless for the past day. He waved meekly. "Anything I can do for you?"

"I could use something to eat," he whispered.

"I'll see what I can do," I replied. "Maybe an extra ration of painkillers, too." I had a weak point there. I don't like seeing anything in pain.

"Thank you." His eyes were bloodshot, _something was worrying him_.

"Is there anything else?" Eye contact; something was definitely wrong. "Anything you're worried about?"

He nodded, I was right. "My friend," he looked around, "Millenniumon took him for an experiment just a week ago."

"Do you know what kind of Digimon he is?"

"No," he admitted.

I sighed. There's nothing worse than trying to find someone who you have absolutely no idea what he looks like. "Alright," I replied. "If I find anything on your friend, you'll be the first to know."

He smiled. It was something that I hadn't seen since I joined the Med. Corp. I smiled back. I hadn't expected it, let alone from one of the prisoners.

I walked away, dodging trays of needles and other members of the corps, and out the door. It was nine in the morning; I had time to do this before the afternoon briefing.

It was then that I saw it, a huge iron door sealed by a yet another iron beam. There was a small window, presumably for observation, fogged and tinted red. I stood at my full height, and looked through the, thankfully, thin layer of mist.

The room was bare and made of brick. _Maybe a gas chamber_, was my first thought.

BANG! Something hit the door and I jumped back. I peeked through the small porthole once more. Something inside was alive, and moving. Quite to my surprise it seemed to be in fair health and still roughly normal.

So it wasn't a gas chamber. _Maybe it's some kind of lab_. I slid the locking beam out of its socket. It clanked on the floor noisily, echoing off the narrow walls. The door fell open, saturating the air around me with a putrid scent of decay.

This was definitely a gas chamber…

I looked inside. "Hello," I said. No one answered. "I know there's someone in here." Still, all I received was silence. "I'm here to help. I'm with the Medical Corp."

I heard rustling in the back corner of the room. "You can't help…" I knew it! He answered in a torn voice, but he was still alive. "Go away."

"Come on into the light," I said. "You don't know that we can't treat you."

"I'm sure."

The stench was starting to get to me. I said, "I'm a doctor. Let me see if I can do something—_anything_." He was getting angry now. He growled at me, then threw a stone at me. I caught it in mid throw. The rock was bloodstained… "Are you in pain?"

Silence.

"I can give you some painkillers if you come out."

I heard some shuffling in the corner. "I don't think that you can…"

"Dull the pain?" I took a few steps closer to him. (Sometimes a pushy doctor can be a good thing). "I'd like to try and… Dear Creator, help me!"

At that moment I caught me first glimpse of him. I was certainly wrong about him being roughly unharmed. When I caught that bloody rock I thought he had been whipped. It was a decent hypothesis, but that was all.

He was inside-out. His body was a bloody mess of flesh and bone, all on the outside where it shouldn't be, and he was still alive! Most of the flesh was infected and showed itself in bulging masses of puss (which accounted for the stench). I couldn't tell what kind of Digimon he was originally.

"Come here," I said as calm as I could. "I have a dose of morphine in my bag." He came, reluctantly, to me. My claws trembled in the darkness of his cell.

He groaned as the needle went into his raw flesh, then he sighed as the morphine started circulating. Then I noticed his leg, it was broken.

I said, "We can splint that leg if you come with me."

"Never bothered me before," he said.

"Maybe, but we'll get that fixed up anyway," I replied calmly. "We'll start trying to reverse the situation right away if you'll come." I moved closer and took his arm. Together, we started out of the cell.

As soon as we hit sunlight, he winced and shielded his eyes. I guess he hadn't seen actual sunlight in a few days, at least (likely more than that). I moved him out, the dust didn't seem to be irritating his wounds, but I knew better than that. He'd learnt to hide his pain early in his coming to this awful place.

We soon came to the outside of the complex, where the tents were set about. Almost immediately, we were spotted coming out. We were crowded by other doctors and their nurses asking questions on who (or what) he was, where I found him, and how I could stand being around him for more than five seconds.

We led him to a tent at the head of the camp. It was a small, squarish tent made exclusively for smaller Digimon (of which I was certainly not). The nameless Digimon was laid out on the nearest table from what I could see.

"Well," one of the doctors said, "You're in quite a pickle, aren't you?"

"You might say that."

He was being crowded, that much was obvious. Though, somehow, everyone but me was completely oblivious to his body language. "Excuse me," I said. "Perhaps we should let him rest. As near as I can tell, you're bugging him."

They glared at me for a brief moment. Then they left, except for a few technicians that were hooking up instruments to his vitals.

"Thanks," he said dimly.

"Don't mention it," I replied. "I just have one question, if you don't mind." He nodded his head weakly. "There was an Agumon that was looking for someone. He was quite deformed, and I was wondering if you might know him?"

"Maybe."

_Jackpot!_ Then I noticed the time, the morning was almost over. This entire affair had cost me nearly three hours of my time. Briefing was in just a few minutes, I'd have to wait to find that Agumon.

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First chapter, this is the beginning of a long road for me to finish this one. Good luck to me. Read and review. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Go ahead, sue me if you want, I don't really care. Flame me if you want, I'll just track you down and punch you in the face. Review even if you don't want, I command it.

* * *

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

I made it with time to spare. Briefing was at nine o' clock and the time was thirty seconds 'til the hour. _Thank you Rift Program_.

For those who don't know, Rift Program is a quick transportation program, almost teleportation. A Digimon will download the program (or any program for that matter), and will be able to access it at any time. In particular, Rift Program opens a small wormhole thingamabob that you walk into and then out again to get where you want to be.

I took my place, standing in the back of the room… Sometimes having a large body can be a disadvantage. The room was quite small in comparison with those who were presently using its resources; therefore, it was packed tighter than wax.

As a field sergeant, my duty was to take notes and inform those under me of the situation. That was the whole reason for this briefing.

A standard WarGreymon entered the tent. Those sitting down rose to their feet and snapped to attention; I did the same, realizing that this was _not_ a standard WarGreymon. This was an Admiral. He was _the_ Admiral that was overseeing the _entire_ operation in Ea.

"Good morning," he greeted. Everyone who could sit back down did. I gave myself up to a more relaxing posture than Attention.

"Operation Lighting Fist has gone better than expected," the Admiral said with a touch of relief. "Our invasion of the City itself was successful and utterly pointless. Ea has been abandoned. We estimate that the Enemy retreated about a month ago."

Something was wrong in the Admiral's voice. He sounded relieved at not having to fight as hard here, but still anxious.

"However," he started again, "We believe that he has fortified Yggdrassil heavily." I was right. That was bad news. "At least half his army has been transferred and the Sovereigns are planning some sort of advance on the plane."

Half! Half his armies had been placed in Yggdrassil! No wonder the Admiral was so worried. Near thirty-five billion highly trained, soulless troops were draining every natural resource there.

IDEA!

"Admiral," I said, uneasily.

He glared at me for a small while. Then he spoke: "Yes."

"How many planes does the Enemy control?"

"He controls Yggdrassil, Anshar, and Valhalla," He replied. "Who are you and what is your rank?"

"Just a Greymon in the Medical Corps. I'm a sergeant."

"Well, sergeant," he spoke to me evenly. "Why?"

"I just had a thought," I stated just as calmly, "that in three planes, there isn't enough food for two thirds of that amount. I was wondering where they got their supplies from."

He didn't say anything. For a moment, I thought I had said something I shouldn't have. _Ah, who cares anyway? He could use a little humility._

"I don't know."

That's it! Cut the supplies and they fall like a ton of bricks.

The Admiral looked as if he just stumbled across a tomb from the Clan Wars. He blinked, he sighed, and then he blinked again. "Sergeant," he said at last, "You just brought up an interesting point. I'll take that to the Sovereigns."

I smiled, to myself. Who would have thought that I could think up something like that? "Thank you, Admiral."

He nodded briefly. "Anyway, expect transfer notices within the next three months." The WarGreymon then left the tent.

We were excused about half an hour later after the admiral left. My first concern after the briefing was to try to find that Digimon again. I had left him alone in the medical tent, but who knows those biologists did with him.

I picked my way through the tent city, on the off chance that he would still be there. By the time I had got to where I was going, it was noon. I walked into the makeshift clinic.

There he was, just as I left him. Except now, he had something at least to occupy his time, food. "It's me again," I said. "You should really be put into a bio-tank. You know, ease the pain and kill the infection…"

He glared at me.

"I'll go speak to them about that." I left the room and went to the cloth building next door.

I was spotted immediately upon entering the room. There was a meeting going on between the doctors that were watching him and the scientists who were trying to figure a way to reverse his condition. As soon as I stepped in, it stopped.

"Oh," one of them, a WereGarurumon stood up. "I suppose you'd like to make another suggestion concerning our patient," he said contemptuously.

I nodded simply. I could have said half a million things in reply. For practical reasons, however, I held my tongue.

"And what would that be?"

"I thought," I replied, equally condescendingly. "You might move him to a bio-medical tank." I smirked at the scowl I was getting. "Who knows, you might need that bed for other reasons."

"Is that the only reason?"

"The bio-tanks are more sanitary, therefore reducing his chances of infection and killing off the infections already in place. It also serves well as a painkiller."

"Very well," he said shortly. "Move him."

With that said, I left again for the tent that held _my_ patient.

"Hello again," I waved, trying to keep up a cheery demeanor. "Where's the nurse?"

"Just through that door," he scratched out. "What'd they say about a bio-tank?"

"That's why I'm trying to find the nurse." So through the door I went. The nurse was there.

"Excuse me," she said, "Medical personnel only."

"Field Sergeant Grey," I replied. Most people called me Grey, not Greymon. "Medical Corp. Eighth battalion. I'm the one who found…"

"Artimus," she cut me off. "His name's Artimus." She turned back to folding towels. "What's is this about?"

"Direct, aren't you?" She continued concentrating on her task at hand. "Where is the nearest bio-tank station?"

"Two kilometers east of here." Now she turned to face me directly. "Why?"

"I'll need your help to move him."

"Alright," she agreed. "Help me with these towels and then we'll move him. By the way, my name is Sam." A fair deal, not something that one runs into most days. Personally, I think she did it just to embarrass me. Claws are not good for that sort of thing and B. M. Program is only for surgery.

Body Modification Program (here on referred to as B. M. Program): yet another of those useful tools that Digimon are, oh, so lucky to have. All it does is simply make beast-types more humanoid. For me, that would mean a more human stance and no claws. Coupled with Data Press (shrinking program) it makes one able to do most anything, including folding towels…

Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to us B. M. Program for small things like this. Which means that at least three or four of those towels now had holes in them. And she laughed at me.

I laughed too, albeit it was a little sarcastic, but I laughed nonetheless. Within the hour we had her mountainous pile of cloth all neatly folded.

"Now," I said triumphantly, "we can move Artimus."

We moved back into Artimus' little room. The Digimon received us both indifferently, as usual.

"Ok," I said as calmly as I could. The poor guy was about to go through some very immense pain. As I said before, I don't like seeing anyone in pain. "We're going to have to walk you to the bio-tank station. If you prefer, we can…"

"I'll walk." He took a bloodstained claw and removed the reddened sheets. Those would have to be burned now. Artimus winced as he stepped onto his broken leg. I don't see how anyone could possibly go through that much torture and not make a sound.

He moved steadily out, Sam and I weren't far behind. Not once did he ask for help or look any other direction then forward, not even when those who saw him for the first time gasped and swore.

So he walked with us in tow. It was slow going. One hour passed, then two, than three, all at the rate of only a few feet per minute. It hurt me to see him so bloody and deformed… almost as much as it pained him. At last we made it. The technicians at the bio-tank station were utterly horrified.

"We have a patient here in need of a tank."

The technician stood up from his computer terminal. "Dear god! What happened to him!"

"I'll give you ten guesses," I stated. "And the first nine don't count." He nodded a tiny, almost miniscule nod. "We're in need of a bio-tank." The technician just stared at me, then Artimus, then me, and then back at Artimus. (Did I mention that he stared at Sam a few times too)? "Now!"

He scrambled over to Artimus. "Um," he stared at the deformation. "We'll have to sterilize you before you go in the tank."

"Just get it over with."

I spotted a clock on the computer terminal. Three o'clock. _Dang, I need to get back to that Agumon._

"Sam," I whispered. "Do me a favor and keep an eye on 'em for me." She agreed silently. "I've got to get back to another patient."

Again, I left the misformed Digimon. Only this time it was in the hands of someone who, though, I knew nothing about, I could trust not to make any sort of mistakes. With that in mind, I headed back to the main complex. Four thirty by the time I arrived at the proper dormitory.

It had been almost a day since I'd last seen the room. The change was a dramatic one. The scattered Digimon were now resting in relative comfort in neatly ordered beds, the floor was clean, and lastly, the lighting was different; someone had made a window or two in gigantic chamber.

It didn't take me long to find my target. He was fortunate to have a bed next to one of the large dentenite panes.

Dentenite: A Definition. _n._ —A crystal found in all forms i.e. solid, gas and liquid within the Digital World. Gaia, the mountain plain, is home to some of the largest mining operations with dentenite being the most abundant resource available solid forms are found underground. Muspelshiem is the only place in the Digital World where the gaseous form of the crystal is found. Dentenite vapors The liquid form is found as fog and in small pools near the borders of _all_ plains, with the exception of Muspelshiem. This fog can be used to transmit signals to the Real World quite efficiently and cost effectively.

He was relaxing (something I found strange considering the circumstances) and admiring the view from his bed. He was smiling, probably because he was no longer quite so hideous and had a brand new set of legs.

His grin widened when he saw me. "Well," I stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "You seem to be doing well. Better than your friend."

"You found him!"

"He's being fit for a bio-tank as we speak," I informed. "Millenniumon didn't put him back together the way he should have. He's had, for lack of a better term, a rough day."

"But he's alive?"

"Yes." I yawned. I'd been a long day for me. "And I found out his name, too." The Digimon obviously didn't expect that.

"How'd you get that out of him?"

"I didn't," I replied. "The nurse did. How, I don't know. But she did." I directed my gaze toward the momentous window. "Nice view ya got here."

"How'd the nurse get it out of him?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." I took a step closer to the window and peered down. "Now I know why we came in from the West." The Northern half of the island was characterized by one cliff about one hundred meters above razor-like rocks in the sea. "Millenniumon knows his tactics. Very defendable position."

"He chose it for the view."

I turned back to the Agumon. "How would you know that?" _Ludicrous thought_, I told myself. _No chance he could ever be right about that_.

"I was one of his servants," he returned. "Take a look at his chambers if you ever get a chance. All windows on the North face." He sighed mildly. "He was right on that one point; he may have been evil, but he's still a hopeless romantic."

"That doesn't sound very likely," I muttered to myself. The Agumon heard me. _He may just be insane,_ I decided.

"Millenniumon often called me into his chambers just to talk." Now I was curious about that. The deformation continued, seemingly not noticing the glares he was receiving from passers by. "He asked a lot of questions about what he was doing was wrong or not.

"Naturally I was scared to death of him."

_Who wouldn't be_, I thought. "What'd you tell him?"

"What I thought he wanted to hear. What else could I say? Every now and then his collar would go off."

Now _I_ was wondering if Millenniumon was evil or not. _I didn't even know he had a collar. I thought that was only slaves._

Again the Agumon continued his story. I was content for now just to listen. Somehow, I found myself wanting to believe that there was some good after all in the heart of the beast.

"He thought that maybe he'd made a mistake when he joined the Enemy. He asked me once to tell exactly what I thought of him. I told him the truth that time. If I ever thought that he was heartless, his response changed my mind so irrevocably that I still have nothing bad to say about him."

"What did he do?" someone asked, gruffly.

"He left. Just left without a word. He hasn't been back since."

I turned back to the window. As I turned, I caught a glimpse of who had asked the question. I stopped.

"A—Admiral!" I snapped to attention as quickly as my body would allow. "Sir, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," the armored dragon answered. "As promised, I contacted Azulongmon about your suggestion." The Admiral paused. "He took it to the other Sovereigns."

I was in awe to say the least. The Admiral smiled and took a small box from his belt pouch.

"They recommended that I transfer you to the front as soon as possible. Sergeant, I'm pleased to inform you of your in field commission and promotion to the rank of Captain."

"Sir," I started respectfully, "I'm honored."

"I'm glad. Expect a transfer notice in one month to Yggdrassil."

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I've decided that the actual war won't cover more than just a few chapters **total**. This entire book spans a timeline of five hundred years (plus or minus ten years). All together, the series spans nearly a millenium if not more. As always, read and review, enjoy and review, and finally, review and review. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** It brings me no pleasure to say that I do not own Digimon. I only own the universe in which this takes place. With that aside, review. If you don't, I'll fill your shoes with toxic sludge and blame it on my Crazy Aunt Betty.

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* * *

Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

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It was a month after that that we got our first notices. A couple of friends were being transferred. And then some of the patients from the camp joined up as soon as they were well enough, including a certain Agumon I knew. 

He had announced it to me as I was making my morning rounds. I make it a point to check in on patients who grow attached to me, even if they're not on my list. That and his story about Millenniumon intrigued me.

"They say I'm good enough to be moved back to Kishar," he told me. "I told 'em that I'm joining up as soon as they release me."

He'd made significant progress in his recovery. I was certainly impressed with him. "I'm glad to hear it. Army, navy or what?"

"Army."

"I'm sure I'll be hearing about you later on then." I turned to admire the view from his window for a few moments. "I should probably get back to work." I'm pretty sure that he nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow."

I left after that to continue my work. I still had Art to check on, too. The bio-tank was being good to him, though we were still working on a way to reverse his condition. That, I was convinced, was going to take a while. We did have something to be thankful for, however. He was stable and that leg was healed up nicely.

As soon as I was promoted, I had all of his medical care transferred to my jurisdiction. After that, I assigned Sam as his full-time caregiver and moved him to a private chamber nearer to the upper levels of the complex.

I waved as I entered his room. He glared as usual. I knew better than to trust his face. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like crap."

"Well, if you would eat," I suggested. He didn't have much of an appetite. "You just might be in better health. There isn't anything I can do until you start cooperating."

Again he glared. He was one of those patients who you want to help, but is still a pain in the tail. I had a responsibility to take good care of him, however much _I_ wanted to strangle him.

"Those tubes of paste are _really_ bad," I conceded. "But they're better than nothing." I took a seat near the tank. "We've been trying for weeks to reverse your condition, but so far no luck."

Sam came in from the next room with a fresh tray of towels. "Hello," she said pleasantly. "Still nothing from the med. labs?"

"Still nothing," I replied. "They'd better find something quickly or he's going to go stir crazy in that tank."

"I'm still here." Sure enough, the bio-tank and its occupant were still in the room. "If you're going to speak of me as if I'm not here, then kindly remove yourselves from the room so that I don't have to put up with it."

Sam looked at him with a sort of pitying look in her eyes. The look only lasted for a fleeting moment, however, and she turned her attention toward me once again. I could read her eyes like a book this time. We stepped outside his room and shut the door.

"He's been in pain since we brought him to the tank station," she said. The pitying look was there again in full swing. I couldn't help but share the sentiment. "And he just wont eat. It's like he's trying to starve himself to death."

"I checked the labs yesterday." I took her hand. Since we'd met, we had become rather close to each other. "They weren't too optimistic about his chances, even in a bio-tank."

"Grey," she said, squeezing my claw tighter. "Art is in constant pain and there isn't anything we can do. The fluids from the tank aren't working to numb it any and morphine can only do so much."

"I've done everything I can think of myself," I admitted. "Frankly, I think he's going die even if they do figure it out."

She put her head on my shoulder. "What do we do, then?" That was a good question. I would have never thought I'd have a critically ill patient. Unconsciously, I stroked her neck.

I made up my mind. "Sam," I said, catching her eye, "We'll give it a week. If the labs don't find anything promising by then, we'll end it." I hated to do it. But living life in a medical bio-tank was no life and he deserved better than that even if it was.

She kissed my cheek. "Alright," Sam said, letting a trace of a tear roll down her face. "One week."

One Week Later…

It had been a week since mine and Sam's agreement. A lethal dose of morphine would kill him painlessly and quickly. For a Digimon, an overdose kills in less than ten minutes. Unfortunately, it was also the first illegal thing I'd ever had to do. Currently, I was heading up to explain the situation to Art.

I came in to see Sam already there, speaking to Art. "Good morning," I said none too cheerfully. "How'd you sleep, Art."

Before he could answer, Sam already had. "He didn't," she said simply. "I was just explaining to him that the labs still didn't have any luck." I nodded.

"Art," I said, "It's standard procedure to wait five weeks with a critically ill patient to see whether or not they recover." This was difficult for me. Despite the fact that he was moody in the morning and miserable in the evening, I found myself choking up. "After that, the patient has a choice…"

Sam saw how hard this was for one person to do alone. "You have the choice," she said, "to wait another five weeks or to have us end your life now." This was brutal for both of us. "We need to know your decision."

"How would I die," he asked, not betraying for an instant any fear there might have been.

"A lethal dose of morphine would do it quickly and painlessly." Somehow, it seemed to me that he looked starry eyed. "You would be…" Again I choked. "Be dead in ten minutes."

"I'll do it." He said this with hesitation or fear. The thought of peace was etched in his eyes. "Creator, forgive me," he said almost inaudibly.

Sam walked over to the cabinet and retrieved a morphine drip. She began to hook the bag to the IV unit attached to the tank. "As soon as this enters your blood stream, you'll have just a few minutes," she said as she worked.

The bag was hooked and working in just a few moments after that. He looked at the two of us as the morphine started to take effect. "You," he pointed to me. "Thank you." He looked over at Sam. His eyes were starting to grow weary already. "I owe you," he said to her.

I don't know whether it was the Creator or whether it was his last words, but somehow a feeling of complete calm came to me. I wasn't happy to see him go and neither was Sam, but he was glad to leave and I was glad to see him glad.

His speech was slurred now. "I owe you both." With that, he went limp. His body lay in the tank unconscious and, for the first time since I had met him, Art smiled. Sam couldn't watch after that. I thought it odd to see her strong form buried in her claws crying.

I continued to watch until the end. Soon, his body started dissolving into its basic data patterns. It was quiet, except for Sam's sniffles. He was gone to his waist in moments. Soon it was over and although, he never said anything, we lost a friend.

* * *

"He's probably a Shadow now," I whispered. For some reason, that gave me more comfort than it did Sam. "When he's reprocessed, he'll remember this life and he'll do some extraordinary things." 

"Grey," my commander said. "Do you know why I sent for you?" The MagnaAngemon stood polishing his helmet.

"No, sir," I lied.

"It has been brought to my attention that one of the patients under your care was killed by a morphine overdose."

I gulped. How did he find out about that? "Sir," I jumped in quick, "it wasn't my—"

"Relax Grey, you did the right thing." He replaced his helmet. "However, that isn't what I called you here for."

I was relieved to here that. After the whole ordeal with Art, I didn't want to be punished for doing something that weighed on my mind for so long. I already went through the guilt stage and the depressed stage without a hitch. Sam was partially to blame for that. If she didn't come visit my quarters every chance she got, neither of the two of us would have made it.

All in all, though, I felt good about what had happened. Whenever I did regress back to the depressed or guilty stages, I thought about his last words to us. _I owe you both,_ he had said. That was a comfort…

My mind was wandering. Automatically, I responded to my commander's last statement. "Then why am I here?"

"I received your transfer notice two days ago," he replied. "You and your nurse—what's her name? —Sam are both being transferred to Unit 316 in Yggdrassil, battalion nineteen."

"So you wanted to hand deliver our transfer papers?"

He gave me a stern glance before removing another section of his armor. "I wanted to give you the papers personally because they include seven days' leave for the both of you."

I sat down. The news that both Sam and I had earned a week's pass was incredible. I reflected on the report calmly. _It must have been the admiral. No one else besides DrakeAngemon would give out something like that for something so simple._

That was a thought. I highly doubted it, but it might have been him. First of the Sovereigns and he was the morale officer. There were even rumors circulating that he was a descendant of the Fifth Imperial Dynasty. _Somehow, that would not surprise me._

"Your transport leaves at 0600 hours tomorrow," he was saying. My mind was still dwelling on who would have authorized the vacation. "Grey?"

"Huh?"

"Is there something wrong?"

"No sir," I answered, clearly failing to cover my musings. I asked about it anyway. "Who authorized the pass, sir?"

"You have friends in very high places, Grey."

"The admiral?"

"No."

_Holy crap._ That was my first thought. DrakeAngemon had gotten word of my idea. That itself shouldn't have been so surprising, but coupled with the fact that he knew _my_ name was just a little concerning.

* * *

Sam was waiting for me outside the mess hall a short while later. I may not have mentioned this before but her form was consistent of a BlackPialdramon. The defused light from the clouds gave her a sort of hazy look just then and my heart skipped a beat. 

She waved me down. "What did he have to say?"

Sam was relieved, to say the least, when she heard the news about Art. Then she was shocked into silence when she heard about what Drake did for us.

"We leave at six tomorrow morning," I told her. "I hope I meet him sometime so I can thank him personally for the pass."

"Where will we be taken?"

It should be said now that most of the marine traffic had been rerouted to go through Ea, due to a high number of minor skirmishes with Enemy loyalists.

"Chances are that we'll be taken to Ea."

"Do you know how crowded that'll be?"

* * *

She wasn't kidding either. A day and a half later, we were standing in the main plaza of the under-sea city. I had never seen more water elementals in my life. And just the thought of doing one thing wrong gave me a sour stomach. If I did, we'd both be drenched in an acid so strong it would melt right through the floor. Not that it mattered much. Most of the people around here could breath under water. 

The most unnerving part of being in the underwater city, however, is the fact that one can see strait through the roof a hundred meters up and into the ocean depths. The sad thing was that it was black as pitch out there until the sun came up. I might have thought about a swim until I remembered the enormous pressures outside.

_Some Digimon can survive out there,_ I reminded myself. How was another matter altogether. One, there was the pressure. And two, the currents were ridiculous. Electrical storms on the surface could produce currents that would wash anything short of gold-digichrome away completely. _They must have built in the lee of domes._ Simple answer.

That was another thing about Ea. It wasn't just confined to air breathers, but there were smaller cities on ledges outside the domes where Digimon who required total submergence lived. Right out there in eddies formed by these gigantic spheres.

We were safe for the time being. Ea had been captured and purified. There wasn't a single loyalist within a three thousand kilometer radius. We strolled through the concourse aimlessly, for about an hour after our arrival. We finally settled down in a sports bar for a _late_ dinner.

Imagine that, a _sports_ bar in an under water city.

The bartender greeted us warmly. "Name's Bart," he said. He was a scraggly looking Geckomon, obviously in the later stages of life. "What can I do ya?"

I turned to Sam. She didn't say anything so I ordered something simple. "Stone soup."

"Stone soup?" The bartender looked confused. "Oh. Earth elemental… Right." He went back to the kitchen and a short while later came back with two bowls. "Sorry about the wait," he said. "We don't get many earth types around here."

"Don't worry," Sam said kindly. "We don't get many water types in Muspelshiem." She took her soup.

I had no clue she was Muspelshiemian. She took me for the type from Anshar. _Roots,_ I thought.

"You must feel like a fish out of water," I said smartly. She laughed momentarily at the pun.

"I wouldn't have thought you had a sense of humor. You take your work so seriously."

"That's why I have a sense of humor." She smiled. "Bart, what is there to do around here?"

"Lots of stuff." He turned on a video screen at the end of the bar. "I suggest the air races. Big tournament in town."

* * *

Air Racing: One of the greatest sports events in the Digital World. It's by far the most popular. And by far the most fatal. Racers must be flyers (have wings) and must be agile and intelligent. Contestants race through aerial obstacle courses at speeds in excess of three hundred kilometers per hour where the track is never the same twice. 

There are five laps and the courses change each time, so there are always surprises and there are always crashes. The first to finish is the winner.

* * *

I was glad to see the that the sport was still active. My wings weren't the proper shape or size for air racing, but the thought of participating still intrigued me. All I needed was an alternate digivolution with the right wings. Unfortunately, the leave was only for one week and I didn't have enough time to train for one. 

Still, I could at least watch them race. "Where's the tournament being held?" The Geckomon's face contorted to one of quiet satisfaction. "Let me guess, you have tickets for sale?"

Quiet satisfaction.

I looked at Sam. She agreed to go with me. I was giddy. This was my first shot at a date of any sort.

"So how's the soup?"

"Actually, I rather like it," Sam answered. "I've never eaten stone soup before."

"Never actually served here before, either." He looked at my half-finished bowl and me. "What you expected?"

"It was exactly like home." Ooh, home. I didn't want to think on that. Kishar was where I was from. Nothing in the world could take me back there like a good meal. Now that I'd eaten one, my head went strait back to that crowded little earth tone building.

Sam saw the look on my face. "I think we'd better be going." She paid the Geckomon and escorted me out the door. "I think you're home sick," she said once we were in the street. "Don't worry, I know the feeling."

I didn't here her. I was still thinking about the last meal that I ate there. Breakfast. It was the morning before I left for basic.

* * *

Flashback:

* * *

"Good morning, Grey." The elder of our little FmU. was almost disgustingly cheerful. "Last day here," he said. 

I answered dimly from my bed, "I hope you're not this way when the rest of them join up." I groaned, pulling the sheets off the bed. My claws had dug into the mattress again. "I leave at ten. Do we eat out or have breakfast here?"

"Here," he stated, smiling. The MetalGreymon was also an excellent cook. I know because he taught me and I'm an excellent cook, too. "Waffles!"

"Sausage?"

"Yep, just how you like it." We walked down the short corridor to our stairwell. It might have been a small FmU., but some of the residents were impressively large to fit in our building. "I do rather enjoy your being here, but I know you need to go."

"_I_ don't even know why I'm doing this." He looked at me funny. "I saw firsthand what the Enemy can do. I know the Creator want's me to fight, but I'm just not sure if I like the idea of joining the Suicide Corp."

My counterpart laughed in his rumbling sort of way. "The _Medical_ Corp is a good place for you. You like helping people." He had a point. I think I got it from him. He may have been disgustingly cheerful, but he was my teacher and friend. "I have to say, though, I never thought they'd let a Rookie join up like that."

"They're getting desperate," I replied. "They let Miles in the army." Again he chuckled. We were down the stairs and into the dinning hall. The rest of the FmU. was waiting patiently for me. "No one started eating yet?"

"You're the guest of honor, today."

I took my seat at the side of the table and Elder (that's what we called him) took his at the head of it. He looked over the spread and sighed. "At this rate, we'll lose everyone here." There was a chorus of agreement from around the room. "My watch over Grey has been one of the most productive trials of my life." He winked at me. "I, personally, will be sorry to see him leave. I'd like to offer a prayer of protection to our comrade to the Creator."

Every head was instantly bowed. The room was as silent as I'd ever heard it. Prayer was the one thing that brought us together. Not all of us liked each other's company, but we were all brothers in our faith.

"Dear Creator," he started reverently. "As we lose yet another of our brothers to this terrible war, we ask that you protect him from harm. We are losing an intricate part of our Family Unit, one that cannot be replaced or reproduced.

"Preserve his faith and preserve this home for his return. Be with him as he faces the tribulations of war and combat. Be with him as he faces all the horrors that the Enemy can throw at him. Above all, we ask you to show him love in the presence of evil and be his constant companion.

"Bless this food on his last day. Let it be something to sustain him through periods of exhaustion and hunger. Let the thought of this last meal remind him of Your love and ours.

"Praise be to Your name. Amen."

I was blushing about as much as an Agumon could blush. I never did like being the center of attention. Still, I was touched. Peace, that was the overwhelming sensation I was feeling at that precise moment.

* * *

End Flashback:

* * *

Thank the Creator that there was a colony from my clan down here. We had to do a little asking around, but we eventually found it. They were happy to let us stay. Not to long ago they had lost one of their own to the Enemy himself. 

The strange thing about the colony was the unexpected results of living in a marine environment. They were water elementals, not the fire/earth ones that one normally sees.

Sam had never seen a blue colored Greymon, let alone a Greymon at the head of an FmU. She was from a different, Chibimon clan. (That is opposed to my being from the Koromon clan). In time of war, however, clan names don't count for much unless it's the Clan Wars.

* * *

The Clan Wars were hideous and senseless acts of violence based on clan rivalries. For the record, there are about a hundred million different clans. Probably more than that, actually. The wars took place just about ten thousand years ago and severely reduced the population of the Digital World from one hundred eighty billion to just under forty five billion. 

The Clan Wars ended with the destruction of a major faction, which was against the unification of the Digital World. The one who brought the end of the war was a Digimon on an unknown level called EmeraldGreymon. He was also the start of the Fifth Imperial Dynasty (that's were fact ends and fiction begins). Some people say that EmeraldGreymon was an angel. Doubtful, but a nice thought. All that is known about him is that his line was not continued.

* * *

Anyway, she'd never seen a blue Greymon. Frankly, neither had I. We asked about it out of curiosity. They said that it was because of the environment in which they lived. That still left the question of why their wings were larger than normal. Even they didn't know why that was. 

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** We're drawing near the end of Grey's time in Ea. As previously stated, the first book takes place over the course of five hundred years or so. For a little more detail, the first book lasts from the time Grey enters the war to the time he leaves for the Real World. Read, review and all the other stuffs that encourages an author.

And one last thing, thanks to the only guy who reviewed this thing, and therefore the only one who doesn't get a shoe full of toxic sludge, Jerad Head. The rest of you can say hello to my Crazy Aunt Betty.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** It brings me no pleasure to say that I do not own Digimon. I only own the universe in which this takes place. With that aside, review.

* * *

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

_Everything was white… Don't ask me why, because I don't know. I didn't know where I was either for that matter. It was quiet, too. Too quiet to be natural. Certainly too quiet to be the Digital World._

_I stood, alone in a desolate, white void. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming._

"_Youch!"_

_It hurt. Maybe I dreamt that it hurt… I pinched myself again just to make sure that I was sure._

"_You shouldn't pinch yourself like that." I turned around quickly, startled at the new voice. "It's bad for the nerves," he spoke. I stared. He looked like a Kotemon, somewhat. He had fencing armor, but no tail, no wooden sword and his eyes didn't glow. His mask completely covered his face so that nothing showed except a mat of brown hair poking out the back. One thing I could tell for sure was that he was young._

"_Excuse me," I said. "Do you happen to know where I am? Something tells me that I should be doing something very important right now, but I can't figure out how to get out of here."_

_He laughed, and I assume he smiled as well. "You're in… Well, it's hard to describe without you knowing who I am."_

"_Who are you then," I asked._

_Again, he let out a soft chuckle. "Some people call me God, others call me Lord, you've called me Creator on quite a few occasions." I didn't believe it. "Well, you should."_

"_Alright," I said, skeptically. "If you _are _the Creator, then how many fingers am I holding up?"_

"_What fingers? Last I checked, you had claws."_

"_Yeah, in my Rookie fo…" Without me knowing, He devolved me. I was an Agumon again, one with claws, not fingers. "Da…"_

"_Not here, please."_

"_Dang!"_

"_So," He took a step toward me._

_I took a step back. One thing was clear to me: If the Enemy could wipe out entire cities with just one attack, and the Creator was infinitely more powerful, I didn't want to get close. Of course, the one thing that didn't occur to me at that point was that the Creator was also (for lack of a better term) not evil._

"_That's right, not evil. Devious, but not evil."_

_I still didn't want to get close, so I backed up even further._

"_Don't worry," He said, sensing my thoughts and anxieties. "You didn't do anything wrong. Actually, I was thinking about a way to destroy the Enemy for good."_

"_What does that have to do with me?"_

"_Quiet a bit."_

"_Like?"_

_He sighed. I cringed, thinking He had gotten slightly annoyed. "Again, you did nothing wrong. Though you probably won't remember any of this, I'm going to tell you that you will be working in tangent with a partner."_

What kind of partner?_ I thought._

"_Just the kind you need. You won't even know he's your partner until you see him with your own eyes. Just remember, he's a hero to a lot of people." _Drake?_ "Nope. Not him, though your on the right track." _Pyromon!_ "Real close that time. Like I said, he'll be a hero to a lot of people, but an enemy to many more."_

"_Why so much mystery?"_

"_I'm God, I can be cryptic if I want. Anyway, that last bit counts out Pyromon. I do have plans for him though."_

"_So if it's not Pyromon or Drake, then who is it?"_

"_You'll know him when you see him." He stopped abruptly. "One other thing, before I send you back," he said slowly._

_Now I did something wrong. "Yes, Sir."_

"_As you know, I don't condone suicide of any kind. Self _or_ assisted. I want to hear, strait from you, why you did what you did."_

_The jig was up. He was speaking of Art and I knew it. He wouldn't kill me now, would he? He said He had plans for me. Shadow? Couldn't be. _What am I going to say to this one?

"_How about the truth," He suggested severely. "I want to know why you overdosed him."_

"_He was in pain, Sir." The Creator nodded. "I don't like seeing people in pain. That's why I went to the Med. Corps. There wasn't anything we could do for him." I was choking up, due to the painful memories. "I didn't want to do it. He deserved better then what he got. I thought maybe he could have better in the next life or as a Shadow."_

_The Creator walked over and embraced my smallish, yellow form. It startled me for a moment and before I knew it, I was shuddering, weeping and bawling out apologies. I went on for a while (I don't know how long exactly). When I was done, the Creator was on one knee, looking me square in the eye._

_I found that a little unnerving. He said, "Next time, ask Me for some help." He embraced me again, tighter._

_

* * *

_

I woke up the next morning with a terrible headache. I figured it was either the stone soup or the atmospheric conditions in the domes —Maybe too much carbondioxide build up?

* * *

CO2 is notorious for killing off Digimon in a rather painful way. Since Digimon breath nitrogen, our physiology is somewhat altered. Most Digimon don't have any tolerance for even a measly half a percent. The normal atmosphere of the Digital World is about seventy percent nitrogen, twenty-nine percent oxygen, point ninety-nine percent other gasses, and only one one-hundredth of a percentage point is CO2. Still enough for plant life, but not enough to kill anyone.

* * *

Other than a terrible headache, the night had passed smoothly. Our blue, water-elemental hosts were very hospitable and friendly toward us. I was quite tempted to ask about their elemental status, and that morning I did exactly that.

"So," I said casually, "why water?"

The Greymon looked at me with a puzzled look, then smiled in understanding. "Natural evolution due to environment. Also 'splains why we're all blue." He took a piece of bread from the dinning table. "How 'bout you, earth elemental. Where you from?"

"Kishar," I said.

"Ouch. Heard 'at place got hit hard."

"Yep. I haven't heard from my FmU. since I left." I sat down, taking something for myself to eat. "What do you do around here?"

"You mean work? I fix things. Odd jobs, ya know. Just stuff to keep me busy. Everyone else does the hard stuff."

"What do you fix?"

"All sorts a stuff. Call me if 'eh need fixin' or plumbin' or electrical stuffs done." He grabbed another slice of bread and ate it. "All the war goin' on, I'm workin' all th' time."

Well, at least I wasn't the only one who was busy. The only problem I really had with these water-elementals is that they speak in broken English with a really deep accent. They're almost completely impossible to understand.

"Y'could say it 'stead of thinkin' it," he told me.

_Damn Mind Users._

"Like doin' that t'people," he smirked.

"So did you always live here?"

"Ref'gee from Valhalla. Th' evolution makes sense. SnowAgumon as a Rookie. Came 'ere with our elder, but he's been killed in a raid."

"And you survived?"

"Wasn't 'ere." He stopped and studied me. I knew he was trying to find out what class I was, but I wouldn't have it.

Classes: There are four classes that a Digimon can choose from. I'll start with the most common of the four, Mind Users. About half the population of the Digital World is made up of Mind Users. They use mental "powers" (for lack of a better term) to read minds, communicate telepathically and project hallucinations. In other words, they can make you think something other than what is actually going on.

The most bizarre thing about Mind Users, however, is that they can change what their bodies look like (i.e. if one wants a third arm, they can change the data that makes up their body to give them a third arm).

The second most common are the Data Users. Data Users are the people who can manipulate elements. That is about all they do, but the possibilities are endless and that makes for incredible fighters. The myth of the Shadow Guardians says that they're all Data Users, using their abilities to combat natural disasters. (That's fiction, for the record).

My own class is the class of Digivolvers. We learn as many digivolutions as we possibly can and pick the one that best suits the situation. Power like a Greymon, speed like a Garurumon or defense like any humanoid form. Each has its advantages and Digivolvers decide which is best to use. The most alternate digivolutions that anyone has ever had was a hundred and fifty, set by DrakeAngemon before he died.

Attackers are the least common. They focus solely training their natural digivolutions. With an Attacker, you might see an Ultimate level with the strength of a Silver level Digimon, or possibly higher.

Anyway, I'm a Digivolver. I didn't want him to know, just so I could train for basic Mind Using as well. I figured it would be a good test for myself.

"You're failin'," he said minutes later. "Sorry."

"Either I'm really bad," I replied, exhaling loudly, "or you're really good."

My blue counterpart smirked. "Prob'ly the latter. I been doin' this f'r years. Use t' make a livin' as a undercover agent."

"You were probably very well trained then."

"'xactly. All I 'ad t' do was go in an' not be stupid. Then gettin' info was easy." He seemed proud of his accomplishments. And rightfully so. Not many people go in undercover and come back out again.

"Who trained you," I asked, giving in to curiosity. He was clearly delighted that I asked that question. "Was it the a Sovereign or one of the Ancients?"

"DrakeAngemon," he said, pleased at the look that had undoubtedly come across my face. "Served under 'is lead f'r thirty years." He had been trained by the most powerful Digimon to ever live. _That's_ impressive.

"How did you manage to get that close to him?"

"Adm'rals aid." Second Lieutenant: a.k.a., clipboard cavalry. And yet he survives undercover operations. Definitely something odd going on. "Wouldn't b'lieve what goes on in Neflhiem durin' th'night ares."

"There's actually daylight there?"

"Maybe an hour 'r two at most."

_Just an hour of daylight? I'm surprised that the place is even habitable._ "How did you get into Neflhiem in the first place?

"Undercover…"

"Operations. That's right. How do you play the part of a mindless drone?"

"That's easy. Just don't talk and do what you're told."

"That seems easy enough."

He shook his head. "Not when y'see what'e does."

I'd already seen what the Enemy could do with my own two eyes. His attack on Kishar was the worst thing that could have happened to the Digital World. I was hiding in a basement, waiting for the raid to end.

"I already know what he can do." _Kishar._ "So," I said, abruptly changing the subject, "what else is there to do around here besides the Air Racing Tournament? Anything less dangerous?"

"Actually," he spoke, this time in English I could understand. "Enough 'bout my'ccent. Do ya'two have alternates?"

* * *

Alternates: Digivolutions aside from ones primaries. Usually Digivolvers like myself have them, but others can easily train for them. An Alternate can be any form of your choosing, provided you know the proper training procedures and have the time to train. Alternates are primarily used for practical purposes, like moving out of your normal environment.

* * *

"Water-breathers?" I sort of had an idea where this was going. "Why? What did you have in mind?"

"Casino in th'levy off th'north side. It's inside th'gates, but it'sfilled with water too." I nodded in slow understanding. "Give 'em a chance t'get 'nside th'gates, an' still breath water."

"I do," I replied. "But I'm not sure if Sam does or not. I think she's a Data User." If she was, we were going to have to find something else to do with our time. "Anything else?"

"Date?"

"No." I turned to see Sam smiling behind me. "He hasn't earned it yet," she said, putting her claw on my shoulder. "He's cute, but he hasn't earned it yet."

"Do you have any alternate digivolutions?"

"Nah." She sighed, smiling at the near empty basket of bread. "When does the tournament start, Grey?"

"The tickets say noon, but we'll want to get there early I suspect." Our comrade agreed heartily. He suggested we get there about three hours early, get something to eat and take it to our seats.

I thought that seemed like an extremely good idea. (Better to take a resident's advice instead of chancing it yourself). Me and Sam left shortly after that, not wanting to be late.

The blue Greymon, who still hadn't told us his name, escorted us to the main stadium where the race would begin. We tried to pay him, but he said he was on his way to a fixit job just a few blocks away. We at least got him to accept a hotdog on us.

Sam laughed, watching the Mind User fumble with the hotdog in his claws. I smiled, knowing he was just doing it for her amusement. He could just as easily changed from claws to hands and back again.

The venders were friendly to us, undoubtedly trying to attract our business. It struck me as a rather comforting thought to know that business was still booming, even during the war. Of course, we were the business and therefore the target of hundreds of booths and salesmen taking us for ignorant tourists.

All this took an hour and half. Then it was another hour to push through all the crowds and find our seats. Bart didn't cheat us in the least with them, however. They were well worth the money I spent: right up close to the monitor.

"Welcome!" The monitor lit up in a fantastic display of colors and lights. A rather gaudy looking water-elemental appeared on the screen, smiling the entire time. "Welcome," he was saying, "To the fifteenth annual Ean Air Racing Tournament! Today's race will cover five laps of ninety-five kilometer's apiece, circling the upper hemisphere of the main dome."

I looked over to Sam. "If my wings were bigger and I wasn't so clumsy, I would race."

"I could race if I wanted to," she replied, fully engaged in the pageantry going on below us. "If I'd known we were going to be here, I would have signed up." She hadn't even noticed the comment about my wings.

"You do know that these people can be killed by the slightest mistake," I said, not nearly enthralled as she. Sam, again, didn't bother with replying. She merely watched as the racers took their places. "I'll never know why the do this."

"You have to admit it is fun to watch."

I glanced down casually, noticing an orange Digimon down among the racers. "He seems confident," I commented. She agreed, catching sight of the character's outlandish costume. "That's fun to watch."

"Racers," the announcer bellowed, "to your marks!" The athletes submitted, crouching down for a running start. Again, the monitor went to life, beaming pictures and sounds of the competitors at the starting line. "Get ready! Set! Go!"

They ran for about a hundred yards, then leapt into the air and spread their wings. Pumping with all their might, they sped off, following the illuminated street lamps that marked the first lap. Within seconds, they were around the first bend and out of sight.

"And they're off!" I shouted. Sam hadn't heard. She had her eyes glued to the viewer, watching as Orange Guy pumped even harder to take the lead. "Do you think he'll win?"

She nodded obliviously.

Numbers started flashing at the bottom of the screen. I assumed that they were the speeds of the participants. Orange Guy was weaving in and out of traffic, moving ahead as nimbly as I'd ever seen anyone.

"Ladies and gentalmon." The commentator addressed the audience in a cheery tone. "There are three legs to each lap." The screen turned split-screen style, one half showing the racers and the other showed next leg. "At the start of each lap, the racers will have the chance to get going as fast as they possibly can (they'll lose speed in later areas)."

The second half of the viewer changed. It now showed a series of dips and dives, accented by large stone walls protruding from buildings and the street below. "The races will be entering the obstacle course next, the most dangerous part of each lap.

Scenes from past races illuminated the screen. Racers crashed and fell to the floor where medical workers waited for them. "Most of the athletes drop out here," the announcer laughed at his own pun. "They're easily treated however, and we've only had seven fatalities in the entire fifteen years we've held the tournament."

I knew that was only the official number (those who had died on the scene). The real numbers were almost certainly greater. Amateur racing tournaments saw fatalities at almost every race. It bothered me.

Sam, on the other hand, was cheering when one of the scenes showed an Airdramon diving too low and crashing into the pavement. "Why are you cheering for something like that," I shouted over the din.

She immediately pointed to the half showing the actual race. Orange guy was diving and avoiding each wall that he came across without loosing hardly any speed. The others were falling behind, almost to where the camera couldn't see them.

Somehow, he must have caught sight of the camera. Just as he passed in a blur of fiery reds, he winked. Sam gasped and held her breath. From the look in her eyes, I'd say she was praying that it had been meant for her.

I sighed as loud as I could. She still didn't hear me over the roaring crowd. _It was worth a try,_ I decided. She'd already been too exposed to him for me to penetrate. _I should've tried sooner._

An hour later they were starting the third lap, this time cutting through the heart of the upper dome's commercial district. Orange Guy had maintained his position the entire time, cutting off anyone who caught up and tried to pass. His average speed had exceeded 305 kilometers per hour. And an hour later, Sam was completely enamored with him. She was cheering wildly, shouting as he passed her by.

He passed by, this time showing off and leaving a stream of orange smoke behind him. I was about to protest, but was promptly quieted by the announcer saying that after the start of the third lap, everything but attacking and physical contact goes.

They were gone again an instant later, around a left turn with a speed of 340 hundred kilometers an hour. The spectators applauded even obnoxiously when the monitor lit up saying he set a speed record for Ea.

I watched Sam watch the monitor, dreaming of ways to get her of the Orange Guy. Nothing seemed plausible.

* * *

**A/N:** I think that that is a good place to put it down for the evening. My butt is starting to hurt and dinner is ready. Review, enjoy, and review some more. 


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Hello, don't sue me. I don't own Digimon or anything remotely related to the topic except a few original characters and a certain plot idea to be implemented into this fic. As always, review or else I'll torture you to death with really lame jokes about plastic army men.

* * *

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

The start of the fourth lap was impressive. Orange Guy had successfully smoked out all of them, causing half to fall back and almost half to crash. The few who managed to keep up with him were all wind-elementals, using their abilities to funnel the haze behind them.

I had to admit I was beginning to enjoy the race. Sam was completely enthralled in it, immersing herself with all the foodstuffs the vendors had to offer. I was actually enjoying her enjoyment more then the race, now that I think about it. But her enthusiasm for the sport was overshadowed by one thing: her enthusiasm for Orange Guy.

I would guess that out of the thousands of fans watching, she was the biggest. She wasn't obnoxious or anything like that, though. She cheered with the rest of the crowd, but she remained with a certain dignity befitting her clan.

They held position in the military. Her clan was small, but extremely powerful. The Chibimon clan accounted for several of the admiralty and one of the Nobles.

* * *

Nobles and Sovereigns: The Digital World's government is quite simple. There are three Nobles and four Sovereigns. The Nobles bring the subject of deliberation to the Sovereigns and conversely, subjects from the Sovereigns to the People. 

The people vote on whether a law or ordinance should be passed on to the Nobles. When the people pass a law, the Nobles pass it onto the Sovereigns for them to decide whether or not it should be ratified.

On the flip side, the Sovereigns can vote on laws to be suggested to the People. If they pass it, the Nobles vote to pass it to the General Public. After that the People vote to ratify it or not. Very simple procedure.

The votes work on a simple majority. Usually, this works on a yes or no basis. More then half of the registered Public voters must vote for or against the issue. Two out of the three Nobles must vote yes or no; and three out of four Sovereigns must vote for or against.

In the event of a tie in the Public vote, a re-vote is scheduled. Within the Sovereigns' vote, the Nobles are brought in to settle it. And due to the number of Nobles, there can be no tie between them.

For each plane, a smaller variation on this theme is used for 'state' government.

* * *

As I was saying, the Chibimon clan holds a decent portion of the political scene as well as military. But more then that, they are powerful fighters. And because of that, they carried themselves with all the pride due them. 

This was how Sam held herself at the tournament. She was undoubtedly dying to scream her head off, but she wouldn't. That impressed me all the more. She would cheer and applaud and smile and stand, but she would not embarrass herself.

Orange Guy had made eye contact with her briefly at the start of the fourth lap. Then he powered through the still lingering smoke. Already, he was clear of the strait away and making the first turn.

The others passed by a few seconds later, the number-two racer clearly frustrated by the whole ordeal. He pushed himself all the harder though. And he was making progress.

The monitor and announcer were going wild over Orange Guy's almost certain win. They'd never seen anything like it. A racer staying in the lead for the entire race was unheard of. But then again, Orange Guy being overtaken was unheard of too.

The second-placer, an extremely small Kabutarimon, was coming up on Orange Guy's rear without him knowing. That is until the announcer announced it, quite to the dismay of the Kabutarimon.

Orange Guy proved to have even more talent as a Data User, blinding the racer almost completely with a strong, reddish light emanating from his body. The glowing ball of light sped up, forcing his wings to work harder than they were designed for.

Number Two was still gaining on him, shattering the course speed record for the second time this race. The light from Orange Guy dimmed and went out and Number Two became Number One, forcing Orange Guy to dive out of the way of the oncoming competitor.

I looked at Sam. She was in shock, staring at Orange Guy's attempts at regaining the lead. She suddenly looked like she was going dance. I checked the monitor, making myself go into stunned oblivion.

He was overtaking the Kabutarimon again. The battle was raging for first and it seemed that Orange Guy might win it. They were entering the third leg of the lap, where they were not allowed to interfere with the other racers except by passing them. They could still use their abilities to help themselves, though.

Putting a tailwind behind him, Orange Guy propelled himself forward with incredible speed, moving under the Kabutarimon and then jumping back up to the same altitude as soon as he was clear.

Number Two tried the same maneuver, but failed when Orange Guy started descending on him, forcing him to go lower. Number Two dropped back to avoid going any lower and crashing.

Fifth lap. Orange Guy maintained his lead for the first few microseconds as Number Two put a headwind in front of his adversary and an even stronger tailwind behind himself.

Even I was growing anxious to see what was going to happen. The crowds had all but fallen silent as they continued to battle it out for first place. Sam was gripping the rail so hard it was about to crack. I was literally on the edge of my seat, wanting to see the finish line crossed.

In the obstacle course, the battle took on a whole new form. Both players were taking turns trying to force each other out of the raceway. If they did that, the other would be disqualified immediately. But nothing either of them did would do anything to deter the other.

Number Two tried going over and pushing down on Orange Guy with a burst of ice-cold air. He succeeded in taking the lead, but only for a small fraction of a second as Orange Guy pumped with an unbelievable rush of energy to take the lead. He ascended rapidly and braked, driving his fellow contestant to a dead halt and down to the ground in order not to hit him.

That maneuver to avoid injury cost him the race as it effectively disqualified him by going out of bounds. With the Kabutarimon out of it, Orange Guy resumed his ride to the finish line at a more leisurely pace, but still managing to lap the last place competitor. He glided in with the final speed reading only two hundred and ninety five kph.

The hushed audience exploded, including Sam, who forsook her dignity for just a moment to lift her hands and shout for joy. I watched her, smiling at the display from a normally reserved Digimon. I thought she looked pretty there, bathed in an aura of exaltation.

But to the point, she was happy and so was I. An hour later, we were pushing our way through the throng to the front. Sam wanted to see the awards ceremony, hoping for the chance to meet Orange Guy. I knew she wouldn't get the chance, but I wasn't about to disappoint her.

Finally, after ten minutes of pushing, shoving, and generally making fools of ourselves, we made it to the front. Sam got into view just as Orange Guy took to the podium. The two lower stands were supporting a pleased looking ExVeemon and a Stingmon in third position.

The announcer was standing in front of the podium, only a few feet from where we stood. Sam was all smiles. "Welcome," the announcer said into a microphone. The crowd hushed. "Welcome again to the awards ceremony for the fifteenth annual Ean Air Racing Tournament."

The people whooped and hollered and the announcer put up a hand to quiet them. "Third place," he said, being handed a medal of bronze-digichrome alloy, "Bate, Stingmon racer from the city of Adama." The insect Digimon bowed and excepted the prize gratefully. He mouthed a quick thank you and the announcer moved on.

"Taking second, an ExVeemon formerly from the city of Anshar! He calls himself Arson." Again, the racer bowed. He seemed grateful just for the fact that he didn't have to cross paths with Orange Guy.

But the announcer moved on to Orange Guy just as quickly as he had come to Arson. He smiled a big, Etemon smile, holding a furry hand to silence the masses. "And our champion, an unknown Digimon with an amazing amount of strength." The throng interrupted him.

He quickly quelled them and continued with his task. "V!" With that simple letter, the crowd erupted in the loudest manner possible to cheer him on. He too bowed gracefully and gratefully, accepting a gold medal and the cup along with it.

I thought it funny to see his monstrous form bowing, his feathery wings folding, and his claws fumbling with the trophy. But it struck me odd that his wings were feathered and not the typical leather. Dragon Digimon usually didn't have anything like that.

_Oh well_, I thought, still keeping my eyes on Sam. _Another puzzle for another day._ Anyway, as far as Digimon standards go, he was quite hansom. It didn't matter anyway. He won fair and square, so I couldn't begrudge him anything except his unintentional stealing of Sam.

I groaned when I saw Sam approach the podium. I rushed to her side, hopefully getting across to V that _I_ was her date. She smiled at him. He looked over her, but said nothing. Then he looked at me and grinned.

I scowled.

He jumped down from the podium, startling both of the crowd and us. Folks filed by and congratulated him while Sam and I stood aside waiting. Twenty minutes later, the people dispersed and the three of us were alone.

As I watched V look her over again, I had to remind myself that I was enduring this for her sake. And then again when he spoke. "You're quite a looker, aren't you," he said extending a claw to shake.

As I stood and shook his claw in fake friendship, I had a chance to finally look him over good. He wore cloths, for starters: a pair of red trousers and a vest. He was at least an Ultimate, probably more on the lines of a Mega, and he was exuberant.

The only thing that gave any clue to his age however, was his voice. While it sounded young and friendly, he had a slight rasp; usually found in people from Northern Ansharian plane. And how he spoke in general gave away that he was at least a millenium Digimon (being at least a thousand years old).

But this all escaped Sam's attention as she was so enamored with the character. "And your relation to him is what?" he asked, referring to me. "I'm just wondering." I knew he was trying to play innocent.

Unfortunately, Sam bought in. "He's just a friend." Ouch! That hurt to the point where I actually winced. Neither of them noticed though. "His name is Grey. I'm Sam. Congratulations on your win."

This time, I sincerely shared the sentiment. "Yeah, congrats on that. You sure did something to that Kabutarimon, didn't you?"

"Actually, he had me on edge the entire time." That surprised me. A racer wouldn't admit to something like that unless they were retiring. "Especially at the end of the race. Scared me to death that he might cause me to crash."

I laughed and Sam glared at me. "Why did you race if you were scared to crash? It doesn't make sense." Again he surprised me with his answer. He told me that this was his first time racing. "First? You looked like you were a professional."

"That's just my age talking." I was right. But Sam thought it all the better. I _knew_ she was about nine hundred years old. I was only about ten years of age. Comparatively speaking, I was an infant.

"I've got quite a few experiences going for me," he continued. "Fighting and flying and dodging other things are part of my job." I asked what his job was. Yet another surprise came to me. "I fight wild fires in Yggdrassil."

A frontline fire fighter. These guys were the heroes who took the time to put out fires in the middle of combat. He would be on the frontlines with us in Yggdrassil. I didn't know what to say to that.

He thankfully said something so I didn't have to. "I'm here in Ea for a few more hours, ya know."

"Do you want to eat something?" Sam asked. Oh, this was going to be a long day. "We know a great pub not to far from here," she offered. I didn't want to humiliate myself like this in front of someone I know.

"Actually, I can't." SCORE!

_Thank God for that._ I didn't want to deal with him for another two or three hours. "Oh, I'm sorry to here that. Why can't you come?"

"I'm not here on vacation. I actually work with the hurricane relief too." Hurricane season was on right now. The raging storms on the surface would kill anyone who went out there. "I just had a day off, but there's a storm heading south of here to New Atlantis."

So he was heading out. While I really did respect the work he did, I was glad that he had leave. Under any other circumstances, I might have been glad to see him go. Who knew, maybe I'd see him again later on.

"Ah. Well good luck with that," I said. "Seriously. Do your clan proud." He nodded and turned to Sam.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, ma'am." Sickening to me to see him play her like that. I had nothing but respect for Sam, and he was flirting like he wanted to go to bed with her.

Sam gave him her thanks and said the same. I extended one of my short, Greymon, arms to shake with. He took it a step too far, though and embraced both of us tightly. When he let go, he said it was good that he met both of us and turned to leave.

_Good riddance,_ I thought. _And good luck._ He would need it if he were a part of the hurricane relief, especially since the season this year looked to be even worse then normal. Sam kept her eyes on him until he flew out of sight.

"I like him," she said.

"I know," I replied. _Believe me. I know._

**One hour later...**_  
_

Sam was still dreaming of V. It was like she was floating on air. Nothing seemed to get her off her high either. I felt like I didn't exist. Sure she'd talk to me when I asked her a question, but the subject invariably went back V.

I liked her. She liked V. Neither of us knew him. And V was long gone. As far as I was concerned, this was a problem. "Sam," I said on the way back to our hosts' home. "I think we have a problem."

She looked at me funny. I could tell she had no clue what I meant. "I mean _you_ have a problem. Nine chances out of ten says that we'll never actually see him again." Either she was still clueless, or she didn't like the truth. "Sam?"

She sighed. "I know we'll never see him again." That was good news for me. But there was always something else. "But I can't help thinking about him. It's like he's a Mind User that won't get out of my head."

I thought about that for a moment. He could be charged with a crime if that was the case. But he was powerful. I don't think anyone could have taken him on without being seriously injured.

There wasn't anything I could do about that, but I could do something for Sam. "Did you know that these domes are under millions of pounds of pressure per square inch?" She shook her head. "The dome itself is made of dentenite, but it's reinforced with gold digichrome alloy."

"What does that have to do with anything." I love it when she asks such simple questions.

"I'm here to support you," I told her. "That guy was a jock. He was a hotshot who was just in it for the money. I honestly don't think he wanted a relationship. He just wanted to get you in bed with him." She slapped me hard.

I don't think it's an exaggeration at all. I knew she thought it was; hence why she hit me. The look was etched on her face plain as day, too. "And I'm here to keep out stupid people like that." Breaking protocol, I switched on the BM program and wrapped an arm around her.

She sighed, but didn't say anything. And she didn't remove my arm either. That was a good sign. "I don't know who he was," I said quietly. "But he doesn't deserve the likes of you. You deserve better." I looked up, watching the airways. "This is a beautiful city, though."

"Mm hmm." She was depressed, still. Or thinking. I didn't know which. It was like she was comparing me to him. I knew I'd loose the battle if she kept at it.

"What do you think of it here?" She wasn't attentive. She just nodded, ignorant of everything around her. I moved in front of her, forcing her to stop and look at me. She was taller, of course, so it was a slightly awkward position.

Nevertheless, I think I made my point. She looked at me, finally making eye contact. "What is it?" she asked. "It's a beautiful city, sure."

"Sam, what did I say before that?"

"That the V was a jock and that I deserved better."

My height grew as I fully engaged the BM program. We were now at eye level, facing each other. Hands replaced my claws and I cupped her face. "I _know_ you deserve better. I don't think I deserve you in any way, shape, or form. But I would give anything to be something to you."

I think I saw a tear. I held my breath, hoping beyond hope that she would understand. And then it happened. I heard the words slipping out of my mouth. I betrayed every feeling I'd had for her since we met. In those few seconds, something changed, and I didn't know how she felt.

"Wha? Grey?" Her face was expressionless. I couldn't read her face or her thoughts. I was blind to her feelings now. And I didn't like the sensation.

I knew exactly what I said. I had told her what I felt. She had heard me clearly, but she didn't understand it. "I love you," I said.

"I know."

She did? That was surprising to me. How did she know? Was she lying to me when she told me she wasn't a Mind User? I was completely stunned. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breath, my stomach was in knots, and worse yet, she hadn't told me how she felt. Needless to say, I was going crazy.

And then, "I love you too." With her helmet off, as usual, she put her clawed hands on my shoulders. I brought her closer. For a moment, I paused, wondering if she was being truthful.

She removed all doubts from my mind when she kissed me. I had never known such bliss in my life. An eternity later she pulled back, looking embarrassed but happy. I wasn't embarrassed in the slightest. But I was sure happy. Ecstatic is more like it.

We started moving again. She wasn't depressed, though. We were hand in hand, total opposites: me from a small, ratty FmU, and her from probably a large, prominent Family Unit in Muspelshiem.

I thanked the Creator beyond what I'd ever thanked Him before. I wanted to shout it to the heavens, to be heard on the surface. To sing and shout and whoop and holler like the crowds at the race.

But for the sake of not drawing anymore attention to a blushing Paildramon, I kept my jubilation to the Creator and myself. And from the gleam in her eyes, Sam was doing the same.

* * *

**A/N:** Well. It's about time that one got done. In the spirit of the "dedication wars," I'd like to dedicate this chapter to INSDragonclaw and his comrade Girgash the Dragon for their persistent nagging on me to finish this chapter. Read and Review, as always. 


	7. Interlude

**Disclaimer:** Hello, don't sue me. I don't own Digimon or anything remotely related to the topic except a few original characters and a certain plot idea to be implemented into this fic. As always, review or else I'll torture you to death with really lame jokes about plastic army men.

* * *

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I:**

_**Interlude**_

I was not looking forward to facing the Light Guardian. After my recent escapade in Ea, he was going to be thoroughly angry with me. But hey, I took first place and met a couple of people. Heh, the one thought I was hansom…

He was a strange guy, too. A believer in the Creator, but a little cynical. I think he thought I was making a move on his girlfriend. Meh. I know he thought _I_ was strange, but he didn't have a clue as to just how different I was.

And Sam… She was pretty. Quite a looker, I told her. Very friendly as well. Total opposite of Grey. But never mind that. Light Guardian was going to be extremely mad. And I didn't know what he would do.

He's the only one of the other Shadow Guardians that is stronger then me. That's why he's first. _But then again, if I surprised him I could_—I shouldn't have been thinking things like that.

Anyway, I was nervous of him. I still had to get there first, though. That was all the way in New Atlantis. Then there would be hell to pay. If he knew the truth of the matter, he'd kick me out of the Shadows. I did that sort of thing every off season.

I actually would have gone with those two if it hadn't been for the Thunder Guardian. He was sent as a messenger to come and bring me back. I would like to have gone, but that wasn't going to happen.

I was flying home though, back to the little area outside of New Atlantis. I was almost there. I dived, strait into the water, still breathing. Shadows don't have to breathe, and if they do, they can do it anywhere.

They were already assembled for the meeting. As I approached the ledge, Light Guardian was speaking. "The fire season is coming early," he said. "And unfortunately, it's coming early enough to overlap the hurricane season."

The Water Guardian wasn't too concerned. She and the Wind Guardian were very well versed in this sort of crisis. I usually worked with them, then headed up to Yggdrassil, then down to Kishar, then to Valhalla. I had an off season of three months and off days during my regular working hours.

This year, I would shove off early. I knew that the conversation would end abruptly when he saw me, though. So I didn't stay on my thoughts for long. He would see me the first time he turned around, then all hell would break loose.

And it did. Just after he finished with the wildfire crisis, he turned and growled at me. It had probably reminded him of me, since I work in Yggdrassil on the fires. His growls ceased and turned into coherent speech.

"What did you do?"

I decided the truth would be the best answer I could give. "Went to Ea and had a bit of fun." That was truth. He wasn't happy about it. I could tell that much by the look in his eyes. "Just a bit of sightseeing."

That was truthful too. The race covered most of the upper hemisphere in the main dome. I saw a few sights, very briefly, but I saw them nonetheless.

"Please tell me you were in your natural form."

"I was." Again, it was the truth. I was in my natural form, but I had made myself visible. "And I met a lovely couple while I was there, though I think the male thought I was trying to steal his date."

"You were seen!" Now he was angry. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was my constant need to talk to the people we helped save. "You can't keep doing this, V! Because of you, they think we exist! They aren't supposed to know! That's why we're Shadows!"

"Please stop yelling. I told them nothing about _us_." And that was the honest to God truth. "All I told them was that I worked with the hurricane relief and on the fires in Yggdrassil."

"You're so bloody ignorant!"

"Ignorant? How can you call me ignorant! I know more about these people then you could ever imagine! I know more about them than you could imagine!" I had pointed to our fellow Guardians, who started dispersing immediately. "It's because I care more than you do!"

He was really mad now. He had always had a temper. That was one of the things that defined him, and also made him a bad leader. It had developed over a course of ten thousand years, culminating at the peak of the Clan Wars.

And now it came out in full. "How dare you say that," he growled. "I work just as hard as anyone! How can you be so naïve to my efforts?" Only sheer force of will was restraining him from coming to blows. "If I could take back being created along with you, I would do it in a heartbeat!"

"Of course that requires a heart," I replied, becoming as frustrated as he was. "If you really cared about the people, you would meet them. You wouldn't just do your job and call it a day! What ever happened to the compassion that goes along with this job?"

"I still hold that compassion with all my heart! All I ask is that you do not jeopardize our identities!"

"I would have gladly given my identity up to be able to sit down with that couple for a bowl of soup!" And I finally said it. The one thing that had been on my mind for years and years and centuries before that. "I want the freedom that I was promised when we were created!"

"Then go! Have your thrills and your 'freedom!'"

"I just might do that! How can you protect this world without even knowing who you're protecting?" To me, it didn't make sense to do it any other way. I wanted to know Sam and Grey. I wanted a friendship with them. But because I'm a Shadow Guardian, I'm denied the one thing _every_ living creature needs: companionship.

"I do my job to the best of my ability," Light Guardian said solemnly. "How many of _them_ do you know who can clime the Impossible Mountain? Who can breathe water without gills? Or breathe air without lungs?"

"That isn't the freedom I'm talking about." I didn't even know what I was talking about until I said it. "I want a life! Not a job or an infinite domain, I want to live! I don't want to be a Shadow!"

"You'd deny the gift that the Creator gave you, just to be alive? If that isn't the stupidest—"

"I wouldn't deny my gift! I just want to be alive and using it. I want to know people and love and war and life and eventually death." The Light Guardian was seething with anger. I was overflowing in grief at not being able to enjoy these things. And all the while, neither of us knew that the scenery had changed.

"_Enough of this."_

I turned to see the voice. I shouldn't have turned though, because when I did, everything became clear. It was He.

"_V,"_ He said warmly. _"I know you want to live."_ I knew it wasn't any sort of mystery to Him. _"You do not have to worry."_

"What?" That was the Light Guardian. "I don't understand! You're going to let him get a—"

"_Yes. You will live too, Light Guardian."_

Shocking turn of events, if I do say so myself. If it wasn't just one, it was all. "How can you give him a gift he doesn't want," I asked.

"_Paradise is coming. Just wait a few more years and you will have the desires of your heart."_ Paradise equals End of Days. _"When it comes, you will live."_

He left with out a word, sending us back to the waters surrounding New Atlantis. Both of us were beyond words at what we heard. The End of Days… The long awaited prophecy was going to come true.

And then I'd have my wish. I couldn't wait.

* * *

**A/N:** Ok. This was an extremely short interlude, but it explained something about V. And it gives a little more character to the Flame Guardian than "Tales from the Shadow Guardians" does. Anyway, as part of the dedication wars, this is for INS Dragonclaw. Amen brotha! 

PS: Dragonclaw, I defy you to tell me I have typos! I checked, rechecked and triple checked just to make sure! So HA!


	8. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Hello, don't sue me. I don't own Digimon or anything remotely related to the topic except a few original characters and a certain plot idea to be implemented into this fic. As always, review or else I'll torture you to death with really lame jokes about plastic army men.

* * *

**Digital ****War:**

**Campaign I**

Most of the rest of out time in Ea was spent site seeing and generally enjoying our leave. A week's pass is something to be cherished above all things during wartime. Especially since we were both going to end up on the front in Yggdrassil. Soon enough, though, our time was spent and we had to ship out.

Our host, that oddly blue Greymon, and his FmU escorted us to the loading bay on the south side of the city. The walk was slow, just like it had been when I shipped out from Kishar. That had been a long walk too…

* * *

"Give it up!" Elder had just told us a rather terrible joke. "You shouldn't quite your day job," I told him. 

After breakfast, I had only about half an hour to spend with everyone before I had to leave. Elder had decided to accompany me to the transport depot. Our two-man group was only ten minutes shy of the depot. We could see it, not too far off.

"If I keep losing people," he retorted, "I won't have much of a day job left to quit. Nervous?" I nodded. He could see my knees trembling. Miles went through the same thing, he said. But that was unconfirmed. "Just make us proud, alright?"

"Yessir!" I saluted. Elder shook his head and resigned himself to saluting back at me. "You don't have to worry about me anyway. The Suicide Corps will take _good_ care of me."

"Eh? Probably." He rumbled, laughing at my remark. "You'll lighten the mood and improve moral," he told me. "Not much else could win the war." I knew he was right. An army won't fight without some kind of spirit.

"I'll let Drake take care of that one," I replied, half truthfully. I didn't much trust the Sovereign. From what I heard, he was funny, light-hearted, and only half serious when it came to the status of our war against the Enemy. "All I can do is hope to Creator that I'll make it through basic."

His voice dimmed. "You'll do fine. I heard from Miles two days ago and he evolved during basic." Clearly, this was a secret. A secret of the sort that one was not supposed to share with anyone until he had the permission to do so. "If you can do that as well, and possibly teach others to do so, you'll be fine."

I stopped and looked up at Elder's towering form. "I'll evolve, Elder. It's only a matter of time. Remember, I'm in for the long haul." He grunted, placing his huge claw on my shoulder. "It won't do me any good to hope for it though. I've got to make it happen."

"The Creator helps those who ask Him for aid." He said that like it was the meaning of life. "But He won't do all the work for you. You have to give it some effort as well." Nothing in life was ever easy. That seemed to be his common theme when Elder turned serious.

I'd learnt to listen to Elder, though. He had already spent fifty years in the war. That was equal to two and one half terms before he was discharged on medical grounds. Elder, I had also learned, faked his upright stance. Though I would never mention it normally, Elder's back was bent out of shape to the point where he had modified his body permanently to be a beast type.

This upright stance was an illegal use of the Body Modification Program that he had gained in the army. No one had seen his true form for at least a decade. And no one had mentioned it in at least a decade either. It was one of those rumors that you knew was true, but never tried to verify because of the awkwardness that the situation would bring. That, plus I was terrified of Elder when he got mad.

"I'll keep safe," I promised. "The only thing that'll keep me from coming back in one peace is death." He smiled and looked about the street ahead and behind us. "What's wrong," I asked.

No one was on the street. "Come with me," he ordered and pulled me into an alley. "Undoubtedly you've heard the rumors about me." I nodded, having a faint idea of where this was leading. "I showed this to Miles, and all the rest. Now I'm showing you. I want you to remember this when you go into combat so you don't end up a cripple like me."

"You aren't a cripple, sir." He wasn't. A beast type was perfectly acceptable for any form of Digimon. "You're perfectly normal," I said, sincerely believing it. "Nothing that I know of you would count you as a cripple."

He fogged up, beginning to shut down the BM program. The alley was almost immediately filled with a white mist so thick that I could not find my way if there was a fog horn three feet in front of me. I backed up, trying to give Elder a bit of room.

"Grey," a voice came out of the mist. "Grey," it said again. It wasn't Elder's voice. It was strangely feminine. "Grey!" Someone tapped my shoulder. "Snap out of it Grey!"

* * *

Sam tapped my shoulder gently. "Grey…" she kissed my neck. "What's wrong?" Her Muspelshiemian accent was shining through clearly. "Are you alright?" I looked at her, smiling. She smiled back, her stubby, little fangs glinting in the Ean "sunshine". 

"I'm fine, Sam. I was just thinking about home again." She knew the feeling. We'd both space out sometimes. She looked at me and smiled. "The walk to the transport when I went to basic."

"Don't worry about it. I couldn't help but think about when I signed up too." Our escort stopped in mid stride and glanced back at us. Sam was on the ball and talked him into not asking any questions.

"A'right," he said in his broken accent. "Th' transp'rt station shou' be on'y a few blocks 'way." Sam smiled a bit at his Ean flavor. I think she must have liked it, and I would have loved to speak like that for her. But it was something that I couldn't get down right.

We had yet to learn the name of our host during our time in Ea. I had asked several times, and I always got the same answer: "Ya wou'dn't und'rs'and." He had this way of dispersing one's curiosity with that statement, but it never quite satisfied anyone. I supposed that everyone just said "Hey you!" when they wanted to get his attention.

And anyway, he was right. Soon we were waiting in a surprisingly empty terminal for our pod. Only "Hey you!" was with us at the time and we didn't much say anything for a while. It wasn't until Sam saw our pod come in that anyone said anything.

"I think that's ours," she said, none too cheerfully. "Number six thirty-two, right?" I looked at our tickets. They confirmed her guess; it was pod six thirty-two. "If we're ever back this way again, I wanna come and visit." She had directed herself toward the bluish Greymon.

"I hope y'all vis't again too." I could see it in his eyes, he was hoping we would come by again. I doubted if I would, though. We were all silent again for a bit, Sam and I standing claw in claw, close to each other.

"Final boarding call for pod six thirty-two!"

I sighed. It was time for us to say our good-byes and wish each other well. "Sir," I said, putting a claw on his shoulder. "Our time here has been productive and a good rest for the both of us. I hope you and your FmU do well and thrive now that Ea is free."

"Give m' r'gards t' th'Corps." I told him that we would and that we would remember him. The pod wouldn't wait for long though, and we said good bye one more time before joining the few other passengers who were headed to the same destination as us.

The pod was, as expected, almost completely empty. The pilot and his co-pilot were about the only others on board. Sam and I took our seats, cushy bucket seats facing each other with a table in between. Thank the Creator we had thought not to pack anything but what we needed because our one bag for the both of us didn't have to be stored.

"You hungry?" Sam nodded and pulled our bag out from under her seat. A deck of cards and two sandwiches were taken out and laid on the table between us. "Who made these," I asked, taking a rather large bite. "Pretty good for seafood."

"Interesting choice of vegetables," she agreed. It had a slightly fishy taste with a few greens and a slice of fruit. Tasted rather like a fish cake, I commented to Sam. "Mm hmm." She swallowed. "It's rude to talk with your mouth full."

"I don't think it matters during war." I glanced at the cards sitting on the table. I hadn't played cards for a while. _Not since basic_, I thought. I had to wonder if I could still bluff my way to a free duty shift.

I smiled, remembering the poker tournament. I had won the tournament on a pair of aces, bluffing and putting all in. The other guy, who had four of a kind, had folded and then when he found out my hand, he had threatened to bash my head in. He never did, and it had been more than a year and a half ago anyway.

"Game of cards? It might help pass the time," I suggested casually. Sam hadn't finished her sandwich yet, and I thought it odd that a BlackPialdramon was taking such dainty bites. I had almost finished in one gulp.

She gulped down her bite and shook her head. "I've heard the rumors. Winning a tournament on a high card? I'm not taking any chances." I had to laugh. Rumors always had a way of getting out of hand. "Besides, I'm not any good anyway."

"What did they tell you? I won on four-of-a-kind, not a high card." She had that look on her muzzle that said, "Oh, the guy who told me that is going to get it when I find him." It was the kind of surprised look that one finds when one produces a completely useless fact of trivia that falsifies another completely useless fact of trivia.

"Oh, that's just _so_ much better!" We shared a good laugh at that. "Who deals," she asked pleasantly, taking the cards from the box. I switched on BM and told her I would deal. "Just for fun, or should we put some cash on it?"

"I wanna see if those stories _are_ true, or if you're just being modest." She took a leather purse out from a concealed pocket within her chest armor. Two copper coins were placed on the table and she set the bag down with a metallic thud. "Two units ante."

From the pouch at my side I slipped out two units onto the table before us. As I shuffled the cards, I noticed her intense gaze which seemed to be fixed on the deck. "Watching to see if I'm cheating?"

"Watching to see if the cards are cheating," she replied indifferently. "Never trust the dealer if he has anything to gain," she added as an afterthought. I think it was meant to be for her, so I didn't say anything.

"Five-card." I dealt out the required cards and sorted through my hand. Jack of spades, ace of diamonds, three of hearts, two of hearts, eight of hearts… _Flush._ I would go for a flush. It was my best bet.

Sam had already calculated the odds on her hand. "Ten units," she slid the coins into the center of the table. "Fold or call?"

I hesitated for a moment, not letting it show at all though. "Call," I said thoughtfully. "And raise you five unites."

"Call." She laid down two cards and drew. I did the same, not thinking for an instant that her smug look was real. She knew how to hide her emotions. "Check," Sam told me.

"Fold."

She raised her head and then her brows. "You can't be serious, now can you?" She didn't want me to fold. "With all those rumors floating around about how good you are, I'd think you would want to make good on them."

No, I didn't want to make them any truer than they already were (which wasn't very). It had been my desire just to have a friendly game. But that didn't work out quite well, because Sam put money on it. I thought she took the game rather too seriously, but it wasn't for me to judge.

"No," I replied. "Fold. Care to play again?"

"You bugger." She smiled and took the box of cards. "I'll deal," she told me, and then started shuffling. "Take a good look at those credits, Grey, because they won't be there for long."

I laughed at that. She certainly had confidence in herself. "Deal," I said. "You'll have to do a lot better than that to get my money." She did deal, and dealt me a five of spades, a spade ten, a club ten, a diamond jack, and deuce of hearts. _A pair of tens on the deal isn't bad. _I had to wonder if she didn't do that on purpose though. I knew she was good with her hands, very creative and devilishly clever.

"Ten units." I laid a silver coin with a cross in the center of both sides on the table. "Call, raise or fold, Sam?" I tried to smile innocently, and failed. She too laid down a single silver coin and slid it to the center pile.

"Call," she said calmly. "And raise you five units." A second coin was produced, half-silver and half-copper with a large eye in the center. "Fold?" I told her no with a pointed emphasis on the "n" and laid down the proper amount of cash.

"Call." _Pair, Gray. Go for the pair._ I put the three undesirables on the table face down and waited for my draw. "Five units." The draw had given me a ten of hearts, but I wouldn't let her know that.

"Raise you five."

"Call and raise by five." Another fifteen units were placed in the center pile. She looked at me skeptically, then back down at her hand. I could tell she wanted to fold, but I also knew she wanted to go on. She was a stubborn Digimon. More stubborn even than Miles.

"Call," she stated finally, and with some hesitance. She laid her cards down, face up with a smile. "Two pair, Aces high." Aces high in a double pair were not bad. But it certainly didn't beat three-of-a-kind.

"Three-of-a-kind." I took the pile, now up to a hundred and fifteen units.

* * *

I think now would be a good time to explain exactly what units are. Obviously it's a type of money. A coin to be precise, the Digital World doesn't use paper money. The unit is the standard currency for all regions controlled under the Sovereigns. The increments are as follows: one half (called a bi), one, five, ten, twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, one hundred, and five hundred. In comparison with the dollar, one unit is worth about ten. So one hundred and fifteen unites is quite valuable. 

The single unit piece is a small copper coin with a sickle on either side. I'm not quite sure of the representation of the sickle is, but it seems that it signifies the farms and plantations. A bi is a unit cut in half. Simple enough.

The five-unit piece is half-silver and half-copper and has a large eye in the center of the main face. The eye would probably represent something like the government. While it is important, the government is not as important as some other things.

A ten-unit piece is small silver coin. The cross is an illustration of the medical corps. Each branch of the military had a coin. The ten-unit piece was ours. On the secondary face of each coin, from here on out, is written an inscription in our own language. It is roughly translated to, "Lord be with us" on the ten-unit piece.

The twenty-five-unit piece is the Navy's coin. It is entirely silver, except for around the outside, which is copper. An albatross, of all things is printed on the main face with the words "Third day" complimenting it on the other side. The inscription, for the record, comes from the fact that the Creator created water on the third day.

A fifty-unit piece is entirely silver with no exception. It is ridged on the sides and about the same size as a five-unit coin. The main face shows a simple island. The Marines have this on their coin "Faith preserves us."

The seventy-five-unit piece is a bit larger, with a gold ring around the outside. On the main face is a battering ram throwing down the gates of some huge structure, the symbol of our main army. They were fighting the enemy right now, laying siege on the city of Yggdrassil. On the opposite face is written, "The gates of Hell shall not prevail against us."

The one hundred-unit coin is a silver center ringed with gold. On the main side of the coin is the symbol of the Celestial Guard: a three-pointed star where the upper two points are curved upwards holding a disk. Engraved on the other half is their motto, "Baring the weight of peace on our shoulders."

The last piece is the worth five hundred units. It is a solid gold disk of the same size as a single unit coin. A rather complicated starburst pattern takes up the main face of the five hundred unit piece, with a single word in our language on the back: "Tok". Oddly enough, it is the only word that's spelling can be accurately translated. "Hope".

* * *

"One hundred fifteen units…" I sighed. "Quite a bit of finance, isn't it?" I thought maybe we should've switched to a pleasant round of go fish, but Sam wouldn't have it. She gave me the cards and told me to deal. 

I dealt myself crap. Deuce of hearts, king of clubs, diamond ace, five of diamonds, and jack of hearts. I would fold, then Sam would be angry that I folded, and it would go on this way until Yggdrassil.

"Check," she said, smiling. Either she was trying to bluff, or she was just happy that we were playing another round. "Call?"

"Fold."

Her smile disappeared almost instantly and was replaced by a look of sinister disappointment. "Fold? After you took that nice big pot?" I held firm. I couldn't win if I tried. She knew it too. "Are you quite sure?"

"You don't want me to _let_ you win, do you?" That's always a good way to get out of something. It's considered the most evil thing in the world to _let_ someone win a game, duel, tournament or anything of the sort. One could almost call it a mark of shame for both the "looser" and the "winner".

"No, I don't want you _let_ me win. Another round?"

"If you want, we could play a different game." In my mind, I was thinking of something that one usually doesn't put money on. "I'd rather not push my luck any farther, Sam."

"Fair enough. I don't think I could stand loosing like that again." Muspelshiemians are known for their tempers. I couldn't stand to see her loose like that again either. Who knew what she might do to me? Throw me out the airlock…

"What are you thinking," Sam asked me suddenly. "You have that far-away look in your eyes again. And be honest."

_Honesty?_ That would be the same as suicide. But it wasn't a good idea to lie either. She would be able to tell. (I'm a terrible liar). "Honestly? Completely honest and you won't get angry?"

"That depends on what you were thinking," she smiled sweetly. Most serpents smile sweetly before they bite. "So—" she moved to sit next to me "—what were you thinking about?"

"I had a mental image of you throwing me out the airlock." Quite to my surprise, she only kissed me lightly. It was times like this that I thought my heart would explode. Maybe she would chop me up into little bits…

"I love you. Why would I toss you out the airlock when I could cut you up and keep a piece to remind me of you?" She was joking. I knew she was, which was a relief to me. I'd not had much experience in the field of women, so whether I did something right or wrong was over my head.

Briefly I wondered how long we'd been at sea and how long our trip was supposed to last. I did some mental arithmetic. We'd left the terminal about eleven o'clock and the watch at the front of the cabin said noon. Only an hour had passed for us. I figured about a ten hour trip to the plane's gate and then we'd be marched with the rest of our company to the front.

"Sam," I said. "We should probably get some…" She was already asleep. She had fallen asleep while leaning on my shoulder. I don't know how comfortable she was, but the warmth of her body was quite appealing to me. "I think I'll take your lead, Sam.

* * *

**A/N:** Not much happened here, did it? Oh well. It served its purpose and now it's on to Yggdrassil and the front lines. Will they meet V again? Doubt it, but it's always a possibility. 

Dedicated to INSDragonclaw: Ha! I finished it!


	9. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Hello, don't sue me. I don't own Digimon or anything remotely related to the topic except a few original characters and a certain plot idea to be implemented into this fic. As always, review or else I'll torture you to death with really lame jokes about plastic army men.

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

By the time Sam and I disembarked from the pod, both of us had a good rest, a few sandwiches, and I had a bit more cash in my pocket. Sam was not happy about that, but she kept that to her self for the most part, until I would ask every so often if I could buy her a drink. That always went over like a ton of bricks. 

Our pod had dropped us off at the Yggdrassilian terminal near the planar gate to Ea. I had never been to Yggdrassil before this moment, and it startled me to see so many trees and such bright sunlight. The air was a mild seventy degrees and the greenery overhead was vastly different from anything I'd seen before. Being only a few years old had some disadvantages, such as inexperience.

The terminal was park-like, being filled to brim with trees, shrubs, and even ponds with fish in them. The whole place had an open air-feel to it. There were skylights everywhere that let in the natural yellowish light from the Yggdrassilian sun. The reflected sunlight from the water cast rainbow-ish ripples on the stone walls. You might say it was a converted temple of some sort. I could even imagine people kneeling in front of the raised platform that boasted a concert of sorts.

Around some of the benches were viewing screens of air-races from around Kishar. That was what caught my eye. I didn't know if they were broadcasting live, but I was still mesmerized by the races. A rather brutish looking Flymon had taken the lead in the amateur leagues, showing off strength rather than skill. He wasn't like V, I could tell. At least he had the sense not to show off.

"That Flymon is going to crash," I told Sam. When he did, I was going to laugh at his foolishness. Showboating like that was disgraceful and shameful. And not only that, but it was a disrespect to the other racers, the audience and the sport itself. One could only hope that _if_ he won the judicatures would not award him his medal. And that was perfectly legal to not award the prize if the winner showed poor sportsmanship.

"Why do you think he'll crash?" She put a claw around my shoulder.

"His form is atrocious," I stated. "He isn't looking where he's going, he's showing off, and if he doesn't quit soon the second-placer is going to force him into a building." And let me tell you, Kisharian buildings hurt. They're reinforced stone with digichrome beams inside. "Come on," I shouted, startling myself. The Flymon had avoided crashing.

­_"This is the last lap in the Rookie League tournament here in Kishar Proper,"_ the announcer announced. _"This is also the most difficult leg of this race, having no prior warning of turns and a sharp u turn to run the course backwards."_

Well, that might fix him. I decided that I didn't want to find out. I already knew he would win. Then the racing board would refuse him his prize and disqualify him for being stupid. That would bother no one but the Flymon show-boater. I snickered under my breath. He would be humiliated and never able to show his face again in the racing world.

I turned my back to the screen. Sam and I were supposed to meet a transport here in five minutes. It would take us to the front to meet up with our unit. Exactly where we were going was somewhere near the farm country that Yggdrassil is famous for. It's not quite as famous as the great forests, but still famous. But there seemed to be a battle going on for the farm country and its food supply. All of the residents had sided with us or else were turned into drones by the Enemy.

Out of fear maybe, some had decided to give up the farmland in exchange for their lives. That was the mistake that got them turned to drones. The males were programmed for the Enemy's military and the women were made into sex slaves. No one knew what happened to the youngest. I hated to think about it, personally.

A transport pulled by two Monochromon had just come in. Already troops were filling the roller's seats. "That's ours," I said to Sam. "Transport to hospital-097." That was our next station. Field hospital oh-nine-seven just a few kilometers back from the line of skirmish. Two more transports arrived not too long afterwards to take the remaining soldiers to their stations. Some of them would be fairly close to us, at the front. At any rate, we boarded and embarked on the last leg of our journey.

The transport was relatively full, and Sam had to use her strength to muscle us into a seat by the windows. She wanted very badly to see the passing scenery, which I couldn't place blame on her for. I too had heard that Yggdrassil was a very beautiful country. For the most part, what we saw had the same open feeling as the terminal did, including our sojourns through some of the major industrial areas, which were mostly lumber processing plants and mines.

There were a great many forests, and scattered villages through which we traversed. The villagers did not pay much attention to us. I theorize that it had something to do with regular transportation of heavy equipment through the area and that a small troop carrier was no more than a pesky fly buzzing in comparison. They simply went on with their business.

That experience did not last for very long, however, as we began traveling the reconstruction zones. Vast areas of deforestation had taken its toll on the landscape and the only colonies we noticed were downtrodden workers, replanting the lifeblood of Yggdrassil: the forests. The Enemy had burned, I found out later, about six million kilometers square after chopping down every useful plant in that same operation. Thankfully, most of the residents escaped with their lives.

The zones did hold some refugee sectors. Some of our doctors and nurses had been diverted to the tent cities to treat injured, diseased, or dead citizens. Chaplains had been rerouted there as well to help survivors cope with the devastation. One bright point in this was that the concentration camps were now being put to better use, though morgues are not highly wanted at any time. I had heard that oh-nine-seven was a converted camp.

I looked away from the window. Sam had not been watching for a while, I could tell. She held my claw tightly, and stared down at her feet. "It's so sad, isn't it?" I asked. She nodded. I could see her face, she having placed her helmet in her pack. She did not smile. "Are you alright?"

She nodded again, and I knew she was lying. How could she not tell me what was wrong? Sam trusted me, didn't she? I tried asking again and failed to get a response from her. "If you want to talk about it," I told her gently, "you know that I'm here for you. Just remember that." Afterwards, I turned back to the window.

The remains of a cathedral still stood, surrounded by one of the worker colonies. That was where the effort was being put in, its solitary form still bright in the midst of shadows. A single shaft of sunlight luminocified an unbroken stained glass pane. "Sam, look at that—"

She looked, and then a flicker of a smile showed itself. "Even in darkness, the Creator shines through," she mused. When she mused, she felt better. I don't know much about the Creator, but I was sure glad to see her lighten up. It seemed to me that whenever she remembered the Creator, that that was when she became content. "Gray, do you know that I used to have family out here?"

No, I did not know that. But the information presented lent itself well to well to her prior attitude of depression. I hesitated on keeping up with the subject. Obviously she did not like to dredge it up. "I didn't know that."

"Almost this exact place," she said. "They were forced out with the annexation of the forest and herded into a camp." Wow—maybe she did want to talk about it? Who knew? Sam could be unpredictable, and she did not oft talk about her family. This conversation needed to be handled delicately.

So what could I say to her? Apologizing would not help her but to reinforce the fact that her extended family had been long dead in the camps. "Were you close?" I asked instead.

"My elder brother's family," she told me. I had assumed that she was an only child. "He had two sons, and an FmU of them, plus six." Sam most likely never met them, but only saw pictures. I wondered if she joined the Corps for that reason—to avenge their deaths. "We were close, I suppose."

That was a definite yes. I did not specialize in psychology, but as a generalist I knew the field well enough to make a prognosis. She had joined to make sure that the survivors had their chances increased, and so that she could undo the Enemy's damage effectively, not cause even more trying to fight him. We passed the cathedral in silence and spent the rest of the time the same way. There was nothing more to say.

* * *

At present, Sam and I stood by our roller chatting with the Monochromon who had pulled it. Both of them were a friendly lot, and one of them had been using an alternate form due to a shortage of natural Monochromon. Sam pulled her canteen, seeing that either of them could use a drink and gave a ration to each of them. 

"So do you come from Gaia then?" I asked. Most of their species did come from the mountains. "I always wanted to see the Impossible Mountain. Seems like it's too big to be natural."

"Wer actu'lly gert thart a lort," the right hand Digimon told me in a classic Gaian accent. "Norp. Wer're from Sourthern Gaia. Nerver sern the Mount'n. Great place I he'r." Southern would probably make him a Tsunomon clansman. Interesting, considering I've never heard of a Tsunomon evolving into a Monochromon.

"Yerp, nerver bern ther'."

"Salute!" Sam and I snapped to attention. Our new commanding officer had just arrived and was headed our way, making rounds before the official inspection of our ranks. He nodded to us and saluted half-heartedly. "Carry on, then, Captain." I nodded.

"Did he seem alright to you," I asked Sam and the Monochromon. "He seemed sort of—dead if you know what I mean." Sam did, and said so. I watched the Digimon pad off toward another group of soldiers, and the same thing occurred.

"Too murch t'r drink, me thinks," said one of the beasts. "Lert 'em walk irt off." He was probably right, I thought. But why would an officer be drinking? He was possibly depressed about something. I didn't know, but it had me worried about him. "Well, we bertter be goring."

"Pleasure meeting the two of you." Sam was always just so polite to people. I could learn from her. I shook my head and offered my parting words as well. From what I knew about her, she took her farewells quite seriously. Too seriously in my opinion. Then again, this was war and no one knew if they would be able to wake up the next morning.

"Yes," I replied to a question of some sort. "Sam, inspection in two minutes. I think we should be going as well." She acquiesced quietly and stepped aside with me to join the influx of Digimon. There were quite a few of us at hospital nine-oh-seven, a rather large place to me.

I was right in the fact that this was a converted camp. It was probably the largest in Yggdrassil. The walls at least had to be a hundred feet high and were thick enough to support a barracks and however many turrets and the like there were. Millenniumon kept the place up as well, no problems that I could see. It was a fortress like I had never seen.

The ranks were standing forward of the wall and Sam and I split ways so we each could join the mass in our proper places. My subordinates had been here for a while, I could tell. Each wore a grim expression, the fighting would continue for a while here, and they all knew as well as I that the bodies would keep coming. One of them, a lieutenant saluted me as I took my place beside him. I saluted back.

"All of this gloom seems to be out of place in Yggdrassil," I commented on the soldiers. My personal belief was that it was a tactic of the Enemy to drain morale among us and weaken our fighting spirit. The lieutenant replied without turning.

"Yes," he said. "But you try living in this place for a while and keep your hopes high. With as many deaths as we see, it becomes a daily struggle." I nodded imperceptibly. He had a valid point. This was quite unfortunate to me, however. And what about the reports of the Enemy's backing down?

"I heard that the Enemy was falling back to Anshar," I asked.

"Yes, he has had his army resort to cannibalism to keep fed. All of their supplies are made from the dead." I struggled to keep from gagging and throwing up. He was a sick creature. Of all the vileness in him, this deed was the top of the mountain. "Not just food, the supplies of ammunition are compressed data and their shelters are made of the same materials."

"You mean he can keep bodies from dissolving?" Theoretically, I had heard it was possible. Our laboratories were working on the same thing to maybe give patients a chance to be revived before breaking into their component data. And the Enemy had created a way to do it, and was using the data to supply his troops? Desecration of the dead was a serious offense in the Digital World, as was cannibalism.

"Keeps them alive if he can, kills them if he cannot." Every law we had—or nearly every—law was being broken by the Enemy. Just when it seemed that he could not get any viler, you found something like this to make you hate him even more. I hated thinking about him, what he was doing, him. "Imagine the Digimon, the ones whose consciousnesses aren't being released after death."

And there came a whole new perspective. After death, when a Digimon is broken into component data, his conscious is released to become a Shadow, or to reincarnate. But having your data compressed and reused? The torture that those would-be Shadows go through is unconceivable. Some things were most definitely worse than death, and I believe that the Enemy had just found one of those things.

The base commander was only a few yards from us now, the same one who had offered that melancholy greeting to Sam and I. He seemed more confident now, more dignified a Digimon than before. I confess that it gave me some amount of comfort seeing inspecting us with the same scrutiny that we had received in basic training. A small measure of security in a harsh world was all a soldier really needed.

He approached and looked at me, seemingly knowing what I was thinking. His stern, weathered face had seen people like me since the war began. He had been like me at one point: Young, inexperienced, but was ready to play the hand dealt to him to the best of his abilities. That was the kind of Digimon worthy of respect.

He came close to me, putting his face only inches from the tip of my snout. "Captain," he said, low so only those in our immediate vicinity could here, "Captain, you are the kind of Digimon that this army needs. I foresee you going a-great many places, and doing our world a service to be remembered for all times."

"Permission to query the Base Commander?" He was rather disturbing my sense of orientation with the predictions. The commander had gone from a doleful old man to having fire inside him that would be difficult for even the Enemy to put out.

"Permission granted, Captain."

"How do you figure that I'm going places?"

"Gift of prophecy, Captain. Call it a blessing from the Creator." He moved on then, leaving me to awe at the revelation. Modern-day prophets were a rarity, only a few existed out in the open. The others, I assumed, were gifted for their congregations or for other purposes not disclosed to outside sources like myself.

But there stood one of them. He had spoken to me, prophesized over me. His words did not give me a free ride by any means, though, and I knew this well. Prophecy held true, always, but not limited to the original subject. If I did something stupid and got myself deleted, it would go to someone else. One might think of it as a birthright being passed on to the second born if the eldest finds himself dead.

I had to be careful. Sam had to be careful. A narrow escape here and a brush with death there would zap up a guy's luck too fast. One had to stretch it out. _I_ had to stretch it out. Yes, I'm superstitious and I thoroughly believe in luck. If I found a charm, I'd hold onto it like white on rice. When I took my first steps out of basic, in Ea, I had found a miniature conch shell. I picked it up, thinking it might come in handy in case I needed to sound an alert. So far, it had done nothing fore me. But the conch is a good luck symbol anyway.

The Base Commander had finished his inspection by now, and had dismissed us all to go our ways and return to duty stations if we were on shift. I decided to do a bit of exploring during my time. The towers were off limits, of course, to anyone but those who maintained them and worked the turrets mounted on them. However, the labs and the prison block were free access. I would need to find my quarters anyway, which most of the hospital's compliment had been housed in converted cells.

Sam joined me some time later, after she had settled into her small room, which she shared with a second nurse of agreeable temperament. I too shared a cell, as it turned out, with none other than a Leomon. He was also the sort of person that one desired as a bunkmate, though not as much as I liked another draconic Digimon. I never seemed to bond well with beast-types. However, this particular Leomon seemed to enjoy my company, and I his.

Since our hospital was so large, the cells were quite expansive, each having housed close to eight Digimon in their original use. Two beds, two tables, two desks (each fully equipped with writing utensils for mailing letters back home), and enough room left over to dance in if I could dance.

"How long is the tour standard in Yggdrassil," I asked the Leomon, who I now knew as Crash. "I heard that I should expect to be here for a while."

"You should. I've been here for about a year now, and the Sovereigns haven't seen fit to move me yet." Conversation with him revealed that he had also been transferred from Ea, though from a different outfit than mine. "This has been the best station yet for me. My home is just over the Capital Mountains, about two thousand clicks east. For a Leomon, the natural habitat is important to functionality."

"That's why you were on the mainland in Ea?" He nodded. Crash had been one of the fortunate Digimon to be able to work in Ea outside of the storms' reach. Ea did have two continents, small albeit, but big enough that one could not see the ocean when far enough inland, and was protected from storms. "I was on that island camp," I told him. "They had Sam and I treating victims of Camp sixteen-eleven"

"Ooh… I heard that was pretty bad." I nodded, thinking of Art and his old friend, the Agumon that had told me he was going into the Army as soon as he recovered. A tear swelled at the edge of my vision and I blinked it back. "…Told me that there were Digimon locked in perpetual nightmares."

"Yeah. You couldn't get near them," Sam was saying. "We had to sedate them with darts and then drag them off to quarantine while the labs worked on ways to break the mental blockage."

"When we finally found a way to fix the problem," I said, recomposing myself, "we went back to check on them, out of the five hundred sixty there were ten left." Crash's eyes widened on his leonine face for a moment, then returned to normal size. "They had torn themselves to pieces. Those we released from the nightmares suffered irreversible psychological damage."

They had turned to blubbering masses of jelly afterwards; irrational fears having invaded their core-data and corrupted them. Barely coherent mumbling sounds emanated from their mouths. One some occasions, you could catch a word, usually something along the lines of not being able to go on, or sometimes a sharp scream about the pain.

"It's a good thing that this place was abandoned," Crash told us. "For the most part, this place hasn't ever been used for anything until now. Either the Enemy transferred all the captives to other camps, or built this one and never had the chance to use it." I was glad for a change in subject.

"Yep," I agreed. I thought that this place was rather well kept up. It was clean, fresh, up beat compared to my last mission. "I take it the courtyard wasn't always so green?" I was talking about the greenery that made for a pleasant place for patients to recover. It had to have been brought in later. Millenniumon would never have done it himself—or maybe he did.

"It was actually greener. We had to tear up an acre or two of lawn and garden to cut down on water consumption." Greener? Was this place a mansion or a camp? I knew water was scarce here. The well that had run here was now drying up, and we had to pump water from other sources, deeper down in the earth.

Sam smiled. She had met the Agumon who had enlisted my help to find Art. Understanding dawned within me, and I couldn't contain a momentary lapse in composure when I realized that this place was the Beast's private palace. "He used this as an escape, Crash! Millenniumon wanted to escape the Enemy just as much as his captives!"

"Except he couldn't," Crash said, recognizing the seeming truth of the matter. "He has some sort of restraining device on him, like all the drones. We saw plans when we found this place, schematics for a double shock-collar." So the terrible Beast was a slave too? No one would believe it except for anyone who ever saw this camp.

The Sovereigns never would believe it, and would only rarely set foot into a hospital zone, let alone one that had been the former palace for the Beast. As soon as we were done with the war, the rulers would destroy every last vestige of the Enemy or his servants. It would take a miracle to save such places as monuments to lives lost.

I sighed. "It's getting kind of late, I think." Sam checked a watch on her belt and agreed, mentioning that she had an early duty shift the next morning. "Good night then, love." I gave her a parting kiss, and she held me close to her for a moment before leaving. Crash watched the spectacle and then turned switch off the lights when we were settled for the night and after Sam had left for her own cell.

"Adios, Gray," he said.

"G'night," I replied, yawning. I suddenly felt a desperate need for sleep, not really being tired before but knowing that a doctor needed a clear mind for his work. I closed my eyes and let the dream world consume me, quite to my satisfaction.


	10. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Hello, don't sue me. I don't own Digimon or anything remotely related to the topic except a few original characters and a certain plot idea to be implemented into this fic. As always, review or else I'll torture you to death with really lame jokes about plastic army men.

**Digital War:**

**Campaign I**

The room shook violently, plaster falling from the ceiling and dust caking just about everything. Crash's mane was busy being shaken out by the odd Leomon as I tried to work the door open. "It's stuck!" I shouted, pulling at the sealed hatch. "It won't budge an inch!"

"Then let me at it," Crash retorted, grabbing a blade from beneath his mattress. "_Fist of the Beast King!_" The stone door shattered into splinters, revealing other soldiers scrambling to get to their stations. Crash and I followed the pushing crowd and made our way to the surgeon's wing.

Sometime during the middle of the night I had woken to the rumblings of heavy bombardment upon our fortress. As I stood waiting for the wounded to come in, I tried to ascertain the situation. I needed a clear mind, free from worrying, so that I could perform my duty to the fullest.

We had been advancing on the Enemy's forces for some time in Yggdrassil, which meant that there were two possible explanations for the sudden attack of a hospital facility. Either the Enemy had sent troops to launch an offensive strike against us, or he was pushing us aside to make a way of escape for his forces. The latter seemed more the likely to me, and that meant that this attack was probably nothing more than a hit-and-fade attack.

"Right," I said to myself, ready to begin my work. The wounded had begun to come in now, moaning and many of them burned and bloody. "Bring that Strikedramon over here!" I shouted to an orderly. "And where's Sam?"

"Right here," she said, coming up behind me suddenly with her armor ready. "I have the sheers ready to go, Captain." I smiled, unwittingly. In the year-and-a-half that we had been in Yggdrassil, she had never once failed to call me "captain" in front of the subordinates.

We had the Strikedramon hooked up to the IV drip moments later and into an operating room. "Looks like third degree burns on sixty four percent of his body," I diagnosed, using the rule of nines. "He probably got caught in a fire-attack of some sort. Let's get this goo off him."

The Digimon was wide awake, though not feeling the pain. His violet eyes looked up at me and he tried to speak. "We were watching the gate," he moaned softly, barely audible over the din, "when they came in from the dark. They were all in dark robes."

"Quiet now," I tried to sooth him. He would be safe in here once we got his burns treated. "Who was leading the attack," I asked. That information could be the key to many of the casualties' survival.

"I don't know."

So that was that. I began clipping away the tattered and charred remains of his belt and trousers. Blackened skin had begun pealing away along with it, leaving raw flesh to be dealt with. This Strikedramon was going to have a difficult time recovering, especially given the increasing chance of infection.

"Blood clamps," I ordered, stretching out a claw to receive the item needed. I felt it slip easily into my claws, the cold and sterile metal feeling strangely alien to me. It always did when I was working on a patient that may not survive. But I began to operate anyway, moving as quickly as quality allowed.

In thirty minutes' time the Strikedramon was under sedation in a makeshift recovery room and the next patient was wheeled in while we sterilized the room once more. I gasped in horror as I saw the patient and growled angrily at the Enemy. I had had the privilege of dining with the Base Commander several times during the time I was Yggdrassil, and every time I saw him I was awestruck by the awkward dignity that he wrapped himself in.

That is until now, at least, when I saw him lying prone and in pain on the dolly being rolled in. The orderly who rolled him in filled me in on his condition, and told me that the commander had asked to be brought here for treatment. "He refused any pain killers we offered, too," the orderly told me, throwing a glance back at the commander.

"I must keep a clear mind to run this place and keep defenses up," he shouted, clearly hearing our hushed conversation. "Now get to work on me so I can get back out there!" I nodded to the orderly to get back to work and told Sam to grab the IV drips.

"I won't take it. Clear mind, Captain," he told me, looking up at me from the operating bed.

"I'm pulling rank, Commander," I bit out. "I don't need you squirming under the knife either. That's just a good way to get you killed." He told me to strap him down then tightly and to get to work without giving him any sort of drugs for the pain. "Sam, strap him in."

"Yes, sir," she said, grabbing the cords from a locker. "Looks like a collapsed lung and several broken ribs, Captain. We have to get this jacket off him and get the com rerouted in here."

I nodded once more and tore the commander's jacket away from him. "Tell the orderly to go have communications rerouted through here and through recovery room C-13." I had not turned from the commander yet, and he looked back up at me gravely, knowing what he was about to go through. "Sir, extreme pain clouds the mind as well," I warned.

"I've done this before," he told me. "Just have some faith."

"Yes, sir." And thus I began to cut him open to repair the damaged lung and ribs. The blood came immediately and I realized that he was hurt worse than we thought. "Internal bleeding," I muttered to Sam, who started the steps to clot it. "One of the ribs pierced the chest cavity and his liver. You take the bleeding; I'll work on the lung."

"Good," the commander wheezed as the orderly burst into the room to report that the com system had been successfully rerouted. "How long until dawn," he asked through the com. I briefly wondered what could be so important about the dawn and then dismissed it as a mystery to be solved later.

"Sir," I asked, "please try not to speak." He ignored me and pressured for an answer to his question again.

"Three hours," the commander repeated the voice at the other end of the com system. "Send up magnesium flares at fifteen minute intervals," he ordered. "That should hold them back until morning. We'll inspect the damage at that time and if we can possibly survive another night, we'll stay."

_Stay?_ Was the commander seriously thinking of evacuating the hospital?_Morning, though?_ I growled, trying to focus. I had already placed the supports that would keep the commander's lung from collapsing again, until it healed itself. Most of the work now revolved around patching him back up and getting his ribs splinted.

_Robes!_ The Strikedramon said they had blended in with dark robes. "Commander, is it perchance a demon-squad?" I asked, setting up the internal splint. He growled an affirmative. The demon-squads were nasty and would pursue us until either all of them died, or we escaped their territory.

The drones that the enemy used were usually mindless, but sometimes he infused them with unholy spirits to create vicious, but intelligent monsters. "All done commander," I said, untying him from the table. He tried to move and winced in pain, then tried again and stood.

"Thank you, Captain," he told me, settling himself into a wheel chair to be rolled out onto the battlefield again. I protested his decision to go back out, but knew it would not change his mind at all. The commander was just too stubborn to back away from a challenge. "I'll manage," he told me as he wheeled himself out and down the ramp form the surgeon's wing.

Dawn came slowly as more wounded were carted in. Most of them were burn victims, though some were mentally paralyzed through some sort of nightmare infestation. It seemed similar to the patients we had to quarantine in Ea, reminding distinctly how close to the beast we were. None of them were saved, unfortunately. The treatment was still being developed in Ea, and had therefore not had been manufactured for actual use.

It was the start of a long list of names on the body count.

The commander had said it was supposed to be only three hours until the attack halted, but it seemed more on the lines of five or six. After he had gone back out into the battle I had seen him thrice more before the night was through, replacing the splint and support for his internals. I have to give him credit, though, for not abandoning the fight outside. It served to bolster the defense crews' morale noticeably. And by morning we were mopping up the remnants of the demon-squad that had launched the assault.

Currently, Sam and I were taking surveys of our patients as they recovered when we came across one of the mass recovery rooms that had a view into the courtyard. "Have those windows blotted out from the middle down to the bottom," I ordered, seeing that the once green fields had been turned to ash colored crematoriums for the enemy bodies.

No souls left in them, I reflected heavily, then shook the thought aside.

Our Strikedramon patient was recovering nicely. His bio-tank had stopped any infections that might have begun otherwise, and new scales were already replacing the dead flesh that covered more than half his body. The delirium of the night had left him unable to recognize either myself or Sam, and we conducted our rounds without incident. I don't think I could stand to leave someone I knew, not after Ea.

Once our rounds were completed we found ourselves in the officers' mess hall, dining on native wildlife. The mood was a somber one, even though we had defended our walls well enough (one of the walls had been destroyed, but was rapidly being rebuilt). Several of our chief physicians had been killed in the siege on the way to their duty stations, as well as several valued officers in the defense crew.

The damage the fortress had taken was minor, except for the breach in the wall. Four turrets had been destroyed, killing the crews inside, and the central food gardens had been torched as well. Thankfully, the base commander had asked for several months of backup supplies.

The real problem came from our recent lack of communications. The external com-rays had been one of the targets of the attack, presumably so that we would not be able to call for support. Whatever the case, the Enemy had done a fantastic job of blowing our com array to bits.

"Grey?" Sam asked idly from beside me. "Do you the rumors are true—that the war is almost over?" She slipped an arm around me tightly and I could tell that she hoped with all her might that it would be over soon. "I wouldn't mind seeing Muspelshiem again."

"I wouldn't mind seeing Kishar again, either.

* * *

The station rolled away from me as if on a track. Elder stood by silently, waving a large claw goodbye. It was a shame that no one else had come to see me off, but not unexpected. All of them had jobs and could not afford to take any time off from them, even for me. 

After boarding the transport it had been a little bit of a challenge to get my bag into the overhead compartment, so I stuck it under the seat instead. The conductor smiled benignly, knowing where I was headed, though he made it a point to not talk to me. I suppose that it was his job to navigate, not talk, and that it required his full attention. Never mind the poor Agumon in the back who was leaving home for the first time.

Ah well.

I sighed and watched out the window. The navigator had worked the transport up to a terrific speed and the landscape flashed past me like a Thundermon on a caffeine high. Soon we'd be out of Kishar proper and on our way to basic. Finally the last of the outskirts and suburbs flew away behind us and faded into the horizon. For a long while I sat watching the farmland. Once in a while there would be another transport going the opposite direction and it would vanish as quickly as it had come.

I had brought very few things with me, mostly personal effects, so there was nothing for me to do but take a nap and hope that I would arrive sometime during my sleep. I had no such luck in that endeavor and by the time I woke up, the transport was still several hours out from the encampment.

So I waited, wondering when I would see my home again. Most likely I would die on the field or, worse yet, get myself captured and turned into a drone. The thought made me shudder. No, I wouldn't see my home for a long, long while.

* * *

"I wouldn't mind getting home again at all," I repeated, spooning a bite of something into my mouth. "You'd like it there. It's nice and warm in the summer and rather nice in the winter too… And Elder is the best cook you'll ever meet." 

Sam snorted her sort of laugh and told me she loved me. I gave her my reply, followed by a quick squeeze on her claw. If there was one thing that could keep my mind off of home, it was her. "We'll be together after the war," she told me. "And if we're not, then more shame on us."

The meal was finished sometime later. Crash had taken the liberty of staying away from us when he saw Sam's arm slip around me, something I was glad of. But he once again resumed his position on the opposite side of the table when the commander meandered up to the front of the room on two crutches.

"Officers," he said, automatically commanding the attention each individual. "We're facing an enemy on the move, one that is cornered and extremely dangerous. Based off of what little information we have from the outside world, the Enemy has been beaten out of Yggdrassil and is on the offensive, trying to punch out a way of escape through our rear."

The commander paused, letting the information sink in. All of us had known that and he knew that we knew just as well. The review, though, was leading up to the real crux of the problem. "Much to our dismay and trouble," the commander continued, "the Enemy has decided to go right through our back yard. That was why he attacked last night, to take our defenses down. It is my guess that he plans on bringing the bulk of his forces through in the next few nights while our turrets are down."

"We're safe, then," someone spoke, the commander glancing at him. "If he just wanted our turrets down, then we're safe." I shook my head at him. That Digimon was ignorant of the Enemy's fighting style.

"He'll do as much damage as possible on his way through," I replied. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that we needed to get some kind of defense grid in place before the Enemy had the chance to strike against us again. "He'll wipe us out if we don't have some kind of defense."

The commander was nodding approvingly now. He loved getting feedback from the rest of us. "And what do you suggest, then, Captain," he asked me. "You're quite right, but there is not much we can do."

"Mine field," I suggested, rather unthinkingly. "We set out a mine field and a line of auto-defense turrets. And of course we have plenty of men to defend the breach in the wall, which we're already hard at work in repairing."

"Or we could rig the place to explode," Sam added. "We evacuate, get as far away as we can, and then when the Enemy comes through we detonate the entire armory." Explosions were not quite out of the question, it seemed, as the commander had a thoughtful expression on his pointed muzzle. "They might even take this place as somewhere where they can base a campaign to take back Yggdrassil. If that's the case, we can blow most of their officers to bits too."

"They'll run a sweep of the entire complex," the commander objected, rather aversely. The thoughtful expression remained, however. "However, we can rig the explosives to be invisible to their sweep… Get an extra sapper team on the wall right away and a det-squad on the landmine defense and armory. We're leaving."

"Where to, then?" the earlier objector voiced.

"We're going to Yggdrassil proper," the commander told him gravely. "Order the evacuation and the transports out. The sick and wounded will be pulled by the Monochromon, and we'll want them well armored. Mobile turrets are to be attached directly behind the top hatch. Other beast Digimon will act as mounts for the humanoids to make all speed to Yggdrassil."

He stepped away from the center of the room and headed for the door. The rest of the officers (including myself) hurried after him to begin the evacuation and prepare for the new tenants of the converted concentration camp.


End file.
